


Something so Flawed and Free

by kore_cob



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Joanna Lannister Lives, Miscarriage, No Incest Here Folks, Smut, Starks are all aged up, but there are character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_cob/pseuds/kore_cob
Summary: Robert dies, but Ned Stark survives the rebellion. Jaime Lannister still kills his king, but the Silver Prince has other plans for him.They both get to keep their heads by giving in to the new Targaryen King's command.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 292





	Something so Flawed and Free

**Author's Note:**

> Timelines here are essentially the same, except the Starks and Tullys here were all born 10 to 15 years earlier, so they’re older than the rest of the bunch. Sansa here switches places with Robb, making her the eldest of the Stark brood, born around 273 AC. She is 10 during Robert’s Rebellion. Joanna Lannister lives. She miscarried that rat Tyrion in her second month of pregnancy instead, and could not have another child after. So Joanna living to parent her kids means that the twins turn out to be good people! Yay! Title inspired by Hozier's song Movement.
> 
> To be clear, Tyrion, Jon Snow, and Daenerys Targaryen all do not exist in this canon divergence AU. I tried, but I literally had no brain space left to extend timelines & add plots. Sorry, I can't do a GRRM.
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM, I own nothing.

I. The Rebellion 

In the cold North, Ned Stark continues to refine his leadership skills, learning everything he can from Lord Rickard Stark. The second son became heir apparent to Lord Rickard when Brandon Stark chose to continue to act rashly. Many say it was the wolfsblood. Brandon was betrothed to Lady Catelyn of House Tully, but that was broken when it was found that he had been raising a son with a Barbery Ryswell for well over a year. Rickard Stark allowed the union. He wed them and gave them a home in the West sector of the keep, refusing to let the child grow up a bastard in a broken home, but it cost Brandon his lordship. Ned was instead betrothed and wed to Catelyn a year later. 

Their care and love for each other sprouted slowly. The birth of Sansa, their eldest, was probably the biggest stepping stone in Cat’s opinion. Ned was solemn as he held her, but Cat could see his silent vow to protect the little one with his life. Sansa’s birth brought them closer together. They had other children afterwards, but Cat always remembered how it was Sansa that opened his heart to her. 

Sansa spent her days between studies and at play. She was a dutiful student to Maester Luwin’s tutoring, quick to learn of the histories, alliances, and geographies of houses and great houses alike, all over Westeros. She plays with her younger siblings, Robb and Arya, helping the Lady Catelyn watch over them and take care of them. She excels at embroidery, poetry and singing, loving the days when she gets to immerse herself in grand tales of old and romances in songs. She wished she was closer to her father, but Ned Stark never really seemed to try much. 

She knew he loved her just as much as he loved her siblings, but he was much more at ease with Robb and Arya, giving them lessons and trinkets for swordsmanship and allowing both to train to their hearts’ content. It never really bothered Sansa. She loved her siblings, and it made her happy. Winterfell was peaceful, her family together and happy.

And then the realm was plunged into war. 

Crown Prince Rhaegar decided it was time to fulfill one of his prophecies, choosing Lyanna Stark to bear him the third head of the dragon. Oh, her aunt fought. Like Brandon, Lyanna was willful and stubborn, loving the freedom she held. Demanding a longer betrothal to Robert Baratheon, the man infatuated with her but whom she obviously never wanted to marry, she lived her life as she pleased up until that day Rhaegar crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty at the Harrenhal Tourney. Sansa was told that everyone’s face went ashen, looking to poor Queen Elia who sat regally, as if nothing had happened. The night of the feast, Rhaegar came to Lyanna’s room with three Kingsguard in tow. She screamed for help, fighting and kicking wildly, but the three men held her fast.

Lyanna Stark was stolen away in the night, and Robert’s Rebellion took flight. 

The Rebellion felt like decades to Sansa. It had beaten most of the fanciful naivete out of her. Gone were the days she spent in wistful daydreams of the glorious romances in stories and songs. With her grandfather, uncle, and father’s absence, off fighting wars, and with her mother about to give birth, she steps in to learn and carry out the duties of the Lady of Winterfell. 

Sansa Stark, ever the lady at only three, was forced to grow up even faster.

When news of the deaths of her Lord Rickard and Uncle Brandon reaches them, hope becomes a fragile thing. When they learn of how they died, Sansa thinks the war might be lost. All she can do now is pray to the Old Gods for her father’s safe return. Ned Stark was with Robert’s retinue, making their way to the capital. Rhaegar had amassed an army backed by Dorne.

They met at the Trident.

The battle ends with Robert dead. The fighting soon halts, with men scattering everywhere, only trying to get home. Ned Stark orders the Northmen to stand down, ready to plead for their lives in exchange for his submission. He is taken captive, and he faces the Prince that night. 

“You fought and rose up against the crown,” Rhaegar says. His voice is quiet, subdued. It was eerie. 

“She was my sister, my Prince,” was all Ned replies. He feels his anger welling up. 

Rhaegar only smiles. 

“All of this was for Lyanna? Not Robert?”

Ned nods once. He loved his dear friend, but he went to war for his sister.

“Where is she?” he asks, voice pleading. 

Rhaegar purses his lips.

“She did not survive the birthing bed. Neither did our son. I am sorry, Lord Stark.”

Ned feels a pit weighing his stomach down. He cannot feel anything for the Targaryen Prince now. He just feels lost.

“Your motives are forgivable, my Lord,” Rhaegar continues. "I will spare you and the North if you pledge your allegiance today, and join me as I march back to take the throne from my father.”

Ned only stares in disbelief. _Aerys’ own son rising up against him? Was the rumor about Harrenhal correct?_

Rhaegar raises a brow. “I’m sure you have heard tales of his growing madness. How he executed your brother and father -”

“If I refuse, Sire?”

Rhaegar remains expressionless. 

“Once I take the throne, I will raze the North to the ground.”

Ned and his men leave with Rhaegar’s retinue at dawn. They reach King’s Landing in less than a moon’s turn. 

Rhaegar sends word to his father that he has returned to aid him. Aerys, more paranoid by the moment does not believe his son. He sends the City Watch and what remains of his armies after them. But they are too few in number compared to those loyal to the Prince. 

Rhaegar along with a handful of his soldiers, his Kingsguard, and Ned Stark reach the Red Keep at dusk.

When they enter the Throne Room, the sight that greets them is not what they expect. 

Jaime Lannister, youngest knight in history to be raised to Kingsguard, sits on the Iron Throne, a bloody sword across his lap. King Aerys’ corpse lays on the steps. they stare at each other for a moment.

“Kingslayer,” Ned hisses under his breath.

“I was only keeping it warm for you, Your Grace,” Lannister drawls. He gets up and steps down the throne, standing to the side. 

Rhaegar only stares at his father’s corpse. 

“Take his body to the Silent Sisters. We bury him tomorrow.”

And the Targaryen Prince takes the throne. 

Order is restored in the following weeks. The new king commands the City Watch to roam the streets, distributing food and clothing, gathering the dead to bury or burn. The people suddenly have a spark of hope that the new reign will bring more peace.

Jon Connington is named Hand of the King, as expected. He was practically bursting with pride and elation when Rhaegar bestowed him the title.

Elia is quiet, traumatized after being held hostage by Aerys, but she now works as much as she can to hear and cater to the concerns of the women of the city. She is cold and courteous to Rhaegar. Accompanying him when her presence is needed, but otherwise avoiding his presence altogether behind the public eye. Her warmth only shines when she is with her children.

Queen Rhaella dies birthing a stillborn girl in Dragonstone. The Prince Viserys, however, survives, and is brought back to the Red Keep so his brother can keep an eye on him. 

Ned Stark stays in the Red Keep as commanded, and he is to wait for orders from the King on how the North may make amends for going against the Crown. 

Jaime Lannister is taken prisoner, kept isolated in a room at Maegor’s Holdfast. Rhaegar was insistent he be treated as all highborn hostages are treated, despite the protest of his Hand. A letter has been sent to House Lannister, and Lord Tywin was on his way to plead for his only son’s life.

The new Lord of Winterfell knows by now that the Kingslayer will only be used to ensure House Lannister’s loyalty to the crown. They had ignored Aerys’ call to help and stayed neutral for the entirety of Robert’s Rebellion, governing the Westerlands and ensuring their people’s safety. For that, Rhaegar probably still held a grudge, even though Tywin Lannister has been forced to serve the royal family as Hand of the King for many years. 

It surprises Ned when he is called to attend the meeting between the new King and the former Hand. He wonders now what the bastard has finally decided on how the North was to make amends.

“Lord Stark,” Rhaegar greets him coolly as he enters the solar. "Have a seat.”

Lord Tywin nods tersely in greeting. Once they settle, the King begins by putting Tywin Lannister at ease. He gives him his heir back.

 _A smart move, Ned thinks._

“Ser Jaime will be spared.”

Tywin's face shows his surprise and disbelief for only a fraction of a second before his mask slips back on. 

“I thank you, Your Grace,” he replies. "For your mercy and generosity.”

Tywin pauses for a moment, gauging the room as to whether or not he should ask his next question.

“Forgive me for asking, but how did you come to this decision? He did kill your father.”

Rhaegar mouth curls slightly. 

“He is young. He acted rashly. But we all know the tale of my father’s growing madness. I believe he deserves a second chance.”

Ned Stark almost rolls his eyes at that. 

_You spare him because he did you a great favor. You looked relieved when you saw your father dead that day. You did not have to carry out the orders yourself._

“He will be betrothed to Lord Stark’s eldest daughter, and they will marry when she comes of age.”

Ned’s eyes snap to the King’s. And he knows now he played right into Rhaegar’s plan. Rhaegar only stares back, daring him to question his authority. He knows he won’t. Not with a wife and children who need him back in the North. 

His eldest will pay for the North’s role in Robert’s Rebellion. The thought makes him weak. 

Ned nods feebly. Tywin is quietly observing him.

“News of this match will not spread until the wedding date has been announced. Be wise and take great care to keep it within the family circles. I have my reasons.”

Tywin and Ned do not even bother to ask why Rhaegar even demands this. They only nod in submission. 

“That will be all, my Lords.” 

And the meeting adjourns.

Tywin is allowed to see his son at last. Jaime only shrugs at the news of the betrothal, more surprised at Rhaegar allowing him to keep his head. They leave for Casterly Rock after two days.

_This idiot king thinks himself cunning, Tywin seethes in his thoughts during the journey home._

Unfortunately, the new king is much wiser than the last mad one. He knew what he was doing, uniting two great houses like the Starks and Lannister. By sparing Jaime Lannister and reinstating him as his father’s heir, he has the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands in his debt for life. Giving Sansa Stark to him as his bride only forces the Starks in line, because he knows Ned Stark would never do anything rash now to endanger his daughter, now bound to a great house loyal to the Crown.

Keeping the betrothal a secret only served to instill a divide between the families. They would protect their own and keep their distance. No bond borne from hatred for their punishments would form. They would only be loyal to him. 

Tywin Lannister does not meet Ned Stark afterwards. Instead, he only writes to Ned the rest of the terms of the King’s commands, delivered to him by the newly appointed Hand himself. They are to wed when Sansa reaches the age of ten-and-eight, and the wedding was to be held at the groom’s home. They will not be allowed to meet beforehand. Ned knows that Rhaegar will not want the two great houses becoming strong allies over the years, possibly giving rise to another rebellion. 

He decides that the news would be better told to Cat when he gets home. So he and the Northmen make for the North, his heart heavy. 

His wife is quiet when he shares the news, but he can see her eyes turn glassy.

“My poor Sansa - she is innocent - a pure girl with no fault at this war -”

Cat’s tears are falling freely now. Ned lets her cry into his shoulder.

“Do you want to wait until she is grown to tell her?”

Cat shakes her head, drying her eyes with her sleeves.

“She has grown while you were at war.”

They tell Sansa the news together. She is quiet at first, brows wrinkling as she takes it all in.

“He is the man they call the Kingslayer, is he not?” her sweet voice asks softly. 

Ned and Cat look at each other, hearts breaking. 

“Yes, sweetling,” Cat says. "I am sorry, Sansa, I am so so sorry, but -”

“The King commands it. It shall be done,” was all Sansa replies, much too solemnly for a girl of ten. 

Her parents are at a loss for words, too forlorn at their daughter’s fate.

“Will I be allowed to meet him? So I may know him a little before the wedding?” Sansa asks, voice quivering.

Ned shakes his head sadly.

“The King will not to allow it. He sent back a few of his own men with me and with Lord Lannister to ensure we followed his command.”

Sansa is quiet, tears threatening to break through.

“If that is all, Father,” she whispers. "Might I be excused?”

They nod. Ned gives her forehead a kiss, and Cat hugs her tightly.

Sansa walks out of her father’s solar, shuts the door, and _runs_ to her chamber.

She weeps bitterly and sleeps through supper. 

II. The Long Summer

The years after the Rebellion has been kind to them. Winterfell is thriving, people bustling about the busy Winter Town, trading goods from hunted game, wines, and fresh produce to fabric and precious stones, scents and oils, and weapons other trinkets alike from all over Westeros and the East. 

_Mayhaps ‘tis a good omen, Sansa thinks, her anxiety bubbling up again_.

She is walking around the stalls with her direwolf, sweet Lady, looking for something to give to Arya before she leaves for her new home. Most of the merchants had only the same generic weapons she could ask a smith to make. 

_Casterly Rock, she muses. Strange how sudden it all feels. Eight years ago, it all seemed so far away. And now…_

Lady’s nose nudges and tickles her ribs, startling her out of her musings. Sansa smiles and shakes her head at her direwolf, now as tall as her shoulder, and ruffles her ears. She thinks Lady might still be growing.

Sighting the last few stalls of weapon merchants down the line, she makes her way over there.

“Good day, my lady” one woman greets her. "It’s good to see you catching some sun. You looked quite pale the last time you were here.”

Sansa smiles back. Lady Helys Maegirah was one of the merchants from Yi Ti, known to travel through Asshai and the Shadowlands, bringing unique goods from those lands. From her, Sansa has bought a collection of fabric, dresses, and jewelry over the years, all quite unique and beautiful. Lady Helys has grown fond of Sansa and has become a friend ever since she began visiting the markets at Winter Town eight years ago. 

“Good day, Lady Maegirah,” Sansa chirps back. "I was hoping to find a going-away present for my sister. A unique weapon from the East mayhaps.”

“You’re in luck, my girl,” Lady Helys says. "I have a new batch I acquired over the past few moons.”

She spreads a rolled-up cloth onto the small table beside her, revealing an assortment of hand-held knives and daggers. Sansa smiles, delighted at her choices.

One dagger in particular catches her eye - it was smaller than the others, a slightly curved handle, dark grey with veins of silver running through it. On the tip of the handle was a short spike that could be folded into concealment. The blade was much thinner than the others, but sharpened on both sides. It has a different sheen to it as well. And Sansa knows instantly that it is the perfect one.

“How much for the smallest dagger?” she asks, pointing to it.

“Ah,” Lady Helys smiles a bit sadly. "That one took me quite a while to find. Valyrian steel too. I’m afraid I cannot part with it for anything less than three golden dragons.”

The price is much steeper than what Sansa is used to, but she came to the markets quite prepared. And she has listened many-a-time to stories of Helys Maegirah’s adventures. They were always enthralling. She knows what the merchant goes through to bring items like these to Westeros, much more the frozen North.

“Done,” Sansa answers, pulling out the coins to pay.

“Bit of a special present, I see?” Lady Helys asks, sheathing the dagger in its dark grey scabbard. "If you may tell, why is Lady Arya going away? And for what?”

Sansa smiles sadly. She leans into Lady Helys’ ear to whisper.

“It isn’t Arya, it’s - I - I am to leave Winterfell a week after I turn eight-and-ten. To marry my betrothed.”

Sansa knows her nameday is a mere three moons away. Her father already told her a few days ago that ravens have been sent from King’s Landing, announcing a betrothal and wedding date of a match made by King Rhaegar himself, giving invited guests enough time to journey to Casterly Rock. The news would spread far and wide in only a matter of time.

Lady Helys looks at her perplexed. "I never even knew you had one. Lord Stark has never said anything -”

“It is a little complicated, Lady Maegirah, but I think news of a betrothal and a wedding should be announced to the public soon,” was all Sansa replies. 

Her friend holds her hand and squeezes it. She can only hope that whoever Sansa had to marry would be kind to the girl. She deserves happiness.

“Well, in that case, I have a little something of my own for you, dear girl,” Lady Helys huffs. 

She brings out a small weapon that could be concealed up a lady’s sleeve or down a boot. The blade is small but is of length to cut through a man’s throat and kill. The handle is deep blue like its sheathe, tapering off to a pointy end. Grey rubber is wrapped around it to help keep the grip. 

She hands it over to Sansa.

“Lady Maegirah,” Sansa gasps, when she unsheathes the blade, noticing the same sheen as the dagger she just bought. "This is too much! It’s -”

“I know what it is, child,” Helys says in a low voice. "I want you to have it. Use it to protect yourself out there. I hope for the best and only happiness for you, but I also know the cruelty of men.”

Sansa tears up. She hugs her friend in thanks. 

“Keep it hidden well if you cannot wear it, but do try to keep it on your person at all times, eh?”

“I will, I promise,” Sansa whispers through her tears.

Lady chooses this time to ask Lady Helys for attention. She laughs happily, giving her the requested ear scratches. There was no fear. She knew of Lady’s sweetness, especially to friends of Sansa.

“Take care, my girl, and do come to visit when you can.”

With that, Lady Helys pats her cheek, and Sansa makes her way back to Winterfell.

\-----

Jaime is training at the yard on the castle grounds, whacking the wooden mannequins, practicing his footwork. He switches his sword over to his left, and repeats. 

Bored out of his mind from the talk of food preparations for the wedding that his father demanded he attend, he sneaked away as soon as he could to blow off some steam. 

Fighting is easy. It clears his head.

Cersei finds him. She was walking four-year-old Steffon around, showing him her home. His nursemaid follows them around.

“Uncle Jaime!” a voice shouts happily.

Jaime snaps out of his training and smiles at his nephew. He sheathes his sword and meets them, ruffling Steffon’s dark hair.

“I am a bit too sweaty for a hug,” he greets his nephew in return.

“You know Father won’t be pleased with you throwing the wedding planning aside,” Cersei says. 

Jaime is panting from exertion. He has been training for over two hours.

“I’ve already been the perfect golden son, learning all the ways of lordship from his majesty, the Warden of the West,” Jaime replies mockingly. "Surely two hours of swordplay won’t matter.”

Cersei smiles. Being married off to Stannis Baratheon a few years back, she has only visited home once before this. But she writes her brother and her mother often. Their letters help soothe the ache for home she feels. 

“I want to play with swords too!” little Steffon interrupts in indignation. 

“Mayhaps tomorrow I could give you a lesson in swordplay if we can sneak you away,” Jaime says. 

“Yes, and incur the wrath of his grandfather,” Cersei rolls her eyes, handing her son to his nursemaid to be taken back to the nursery and bathed before supper. 

The twins start making their way back to the Lord’s solar to answer their mother’s summons.

Both of them have always secretly agreed that Tywin Lannister was not a good father. Not a good parent at all, in fact. He was a ruthless man, and he disciplined with an iron fist. The love he held for their mother was one redeeming quality about him. Without their mother, they both knew Tywin Lannister would have crumbled. They would probably have grown into very different people had he been the only parent rearing them. Different meaning not in a good way, oh, not in a good way at all. 

“Does your husband smile in public yet, or does he still insist on keeping that steel rod up his arse?” Jaime asks nonchalantly. He has always loved teasing her about Stannis.

Cersei swats him. 

“Just because he is a serious man, doesn’t mean he is father reincarnated.”

They both shudder and laugh at the thought. 

“How are you feeling about your own wedding?”

Jaime’s mouth curls into a bitter smile. Whispers of Kingslayer have followed since the day he slew Aerys Targaryen. His reputation as the honorless Lannister heir has circulated Westeros. The Silver Prince, a man he used to have so much faith in, thought it was mercy sparing him. Jaime would have rather lost his head that day.

“I’d break the betrothal the moment I could, and give the girl her life back.” 

Cersei bows her head sadly and sighs. 

“The King commands it.”

The silence that follows is a familiar one. 

They near the Lord’s chamber when Cersei suddenly blurts out. "Can you believe I once fancied that silver-haired twit so much? Gods, what a child I was.”

Jaime is chuckling now, remembering the days his sister used to pretend to be the Targaryen Queen of the Seven Kingdoms as a child.

“Poor Elia,” she mutters sadly.

_Poor Elia indeed, Jaime thinks, as they reach the Lord’s solar._

Joanna Lannister is finishing up the seating arrangement for the wedding feast and the preparation of guest quarters for the royal party. She smiles at her children.

“I’m glad you could come to your brother’s wedding, my dear,” Lady Lannister says in greeting. "We all have missed you.” 

“Mother,” Cersei greets her warmly, going to hug her. It was a well-known rumor that Lady Lannister ruled over Tywin Lannister behind the whole facade of lordship, giving herself quite a name, but she was the kindest, most caring and loving mother towards her children. They were never short of hugs from her. 

“How is little Steffon?” Joanna asks.

“He looks so much like his father when he’s angry, it really is quite hilarious.”

All three of them laugh at that, the air light around them. 

Lady Joanna sobers up first and turns to face her son.

“You don’t need to talk about it right now, you know -” Jaime begins.

“The wedding is only two moons away, and your betrothed is probably already packing as we speak.” she answers.

Jaime sighs, walks over to the recliner, and plops down dramatically. 

Cersei musses up his golden hair, making him groan in annoyance. Her brother really was quite vain when it came to his hair.

“I’ll leave you to it then. See you at supper,” she sang on her way out. 

His mother sits beside him and takes his hand in both of hers. Her thumb rubbing the back of his hand brings a cloud of comfort around him. She always knew what he and his sister needed.

“It isn’t so bad, you know,” Lady Joanna says in a soft voice. "Most nobles and highborn are made to go through with arranged marriages. Many eventually find a sense of companionship, some find happiness even, if the luck of the match has it.”

“None of them were made to marry the man who killed his king. Tywin Lannister’s golden son, Heir to the Westerlands. Kingslayer, man without honor,” Jaime deadpans.

His mother sighs. She knew the man he had grown into. Aerys robbing them of their son at such a young age took a toll on the whole family, but mostly on Jaime himself. She knew he had seen his fair share of horrors in King’s Landing. The boon granted to them by the new Targaryen King gave her a chance to help her son, guide him to make him regain a sense of hope and purpose. 

The story that spread through the realm already did its damage, however, and it haunted her son and followed him everywhere. Jaime was stubborn, but had good in him. She made sure of that for both her children.

“All that aside, I know you still don’t want to marry,” she says. "No woman has truly ever held your attention. You were more interested in the war stories of the Blackfish than the Tully's fair cousin all those years back. You made your father worry.” 

Jaime smiles at the memory. She was not wrong. And the Blackfish held more tales of war and glory than the Lady Taryne, who really was painfully shy. 

“But think of the girl -”

“I know,” Jaime answers her seriously.

Joanna waits for him to finish.

“You raised us well, Mother,” Jaime says with a soft smile. 

“You fought hard for Cersei’s match,” he continues. "And now she is married to a decent man, stern as he may be, he treats her well. He respects her”

“And you?” she asks him lightly. 

“I am not Father,” Jaime replies. "The Stark girl will know kindness and respect.” 

Joanna smiles. 

“She will know what it is like to be equals in a marriage. I swear it.”

Lady Lannister strokes her son’s face. She knows she raised her children well. 

“Go clean up,” she orders him, giving his forehead a kiss before sending him off.

Jaime smiles back sadly and makes his way to his room for a bath. 

\-----

Sansa is lost in thought as she walks towards Arya’s room. She knocks.

“Come in!” her little sister’s shrill voice answers. 

When she enters, she sees Nymeria lounging on the bed. Arya is packing the last of her socks into her trunk. They leave at dawn tomorrow.

"What brings you here?” Arya asks. "Is it the wedding jitters? You do know it's still two moons away.”

Sansa sighs. _Oh to be a child without care._

“I have something for you. I was debating whether I’d wait for the day you all leave me in the lion’s den, but I thought I may not have the privacy then.”

Arya’s eyes go wide and bright.

“What is it!” she exclaims excitedly. 

“Promise me you will be careful.” 

“I promise! I promise!”

Sansa smiles at her sister, and presents her with a cloak she stitched with a snarling direwolf, the spitting image of Nymeria.

Arya smile at the fierce garment.

“Be careful unraveling this,” she smirks. 

Arya, curious at her words, goes to the bed to spread out the cloak. She gasps when the dagger is revealed.

“Oh!”

Arya unsheathes the dagger, admiring her new weapon. 

“I know you already have a sword from Robb. So I thought you could have this to keep close to you. Father will be glad to get you a teacher,” Sansa says quietly. 

Arya’s smile lights up her whole face.

“Be careful with it, sister. It is Valyrian steel. Have care not to lose it or have it stolen.”

She sheathes the dagger, and goes to give Sansa a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing tight.

“Go sleep. We rise early in the morn.”

Sansa gets little sleep that night, her stomach churning with anxiety and her mind whirling, drowning in her own thoughts. Her septa and her mother have counseled her as much as they can on what life is like as husband and wife.

With the reputation of House Lannister, she is all the more terrified. 

Lady Catelyn and her brothers Robb, Bran, and Rickon are there to see them off in the morning. Her mother must stay behind to rule in her father’s stead with Robb to help. Her other brothers are still too young to travel. She will miss them terribly. 

She hugs her mother one last time, not knowing when she can see her again.

“Take care of yourself, sweet girl,” Lady Catelyn whispers. "I love you.”

“I love you too, Mother,” she whispers back.

Sansa bids Robb goodbye next. 

“Write to me if he turns out to be horrid,” her brother says, hugging her close. "I’ll ride to the Rock and beat his arse myself.”

Sansa giggles. She will miss him terribly. 

Bidding Bran and Rickon goodbye, she is helped onto her horse. She takes one last look at her home before riding out. Arya has chosen to ride upfront with Father. Sansa prefers peace and quiet this morning, so she rides in the middle, Lady trotting close by. Her father’s men are some distance beside and behind her.

The tears start falling freely once Winterfell is out of sight. 

\-----

The Stark company rode for White Harbor. From there, they sail to King’s Landing before taking the Gold Road to Lannisport. Lord Stark thought the sea might be safer for travels, rather than riding for two moons, avoiding brigands and bandits along the road at every turn. This way, they may travel with lighter company as well.

The voyage at sea was peaceful. Sansa spent her days embroidering the last bit of the direwolf on her maiden cloak or watching Arya brandish her sword on deck when the weather permitted it. 

At night, she would try and fail to fall asleep quickly. Her thoughts often drifted to her betrothed and to the Lannisters. She knew Ser Jaime was the youngest knight to be raised to Kingsguard - a great honor that would have cemented his name in history books among the great knights, had he not killed his King. She wondered what he was like now. It has been years since that infamous day. 

_Gods, I don’t even know what he looks like, Sansa thinks. I might throw up at the Sept if he turns out to be the spitting image of his father._

For the rest of House Lannister, they were of powerful repute. Most of the family was known to be as unfazed and as proud as the snarling golden lion on their banners. Lord Tywin was a fearsome man, decimating the entire Reyne and Tarbeck line - he was ruthless and merciless as could be. 

The Lady Joanna was known to rule her husband behind closed doors. Their daughter, Lady Cersei Baratheon, now rules the Stormlands alongside Lord Stannis. 

_Does Ser Jaime take after his father? Sansa’s heart clenches with fear at that thought._

She is tired the next morning when they dock in King’s Landing, having gotten very little sleep. The fabled capital - home to the majestic Red Keep where the Iron Throne stood - smelled like shit. The stink of the city had them all glad that they were immediately continuing their journey down the Gold Road after only a quick meal at an inn. Once the men have loaded their wagons with their belongings, they begin the ride to Casterly Rock.

They stop at inns when they can along the way, but they set up a small camp when they cannot. No wheelhouse was brought along, only wagons for their trunks and supplies. Sansa found sleeping under the stars to be quite refreshing. It was calming, and helped cloud off most of the thoughts that swirled around peskily in her head. 

When they could grab a moment alone, Arya would try to teach her how to use her little knife.

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end! That’s what matters!”

Sansa laughs, sheathing her blade and hiding it back up her sleeve. She will miss her sister. 

Her nerves come back to hit her full-force when they reach Lannisport. Seeing Casterly Rock for the first time takes her breath away. Carved into stone, it stands overlooking the harbor. The grandeur of the castle was apt for the great house it seats. Sansa tries to take it all in as they make their way up to the Lion’s Mouth. 

_This is what I thought King’s Landing would look like, she thinks._

It is dusk when they reach the entrance to the castle. Lady Joanna Lannister and Lady Cersei Baratheon are waiting to receive them. They dismount and make their way over. Sansa and Arya curtsy while Ned Stark bows in greeting. Lady sits on her hunches, on her best behavior.

_Right, we aren’t allowed to actually meet yet, Sansa thinks, damning the King silently. Strangers until the wedding it’ll be then, she sighs internally._

“Welcome to Casterly Rock, Lord Stark” Lady Lannister says cordially. "I trust your journey was alright?”

“It was, my Lady,” her father replies. "I thank you for your kind welcome.” 

“Lady Baratheon, it is good to see you well,” Ned says, courteous as ever.

Cersei bows her head in acknowledgement, but her eyes continue to track back, watching Sansa with interest. The Northern girl was even more beautiful than rumors painted. 

_Her direwolf honestly looks sweeter than Aunt Genna, Cersei thinks._

Lady Joanna nods kindly. She turns to greet the Stark sisters. The Lannister guards around cower in the presence of the large direwolf, but Lady Joanna approaches without a fuss.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya,” her voice warm, eyes lingering on Sansa. "You must be tired from the long ride.”

Arya only looks to her sister to answer. 

“It was peaceful, your Ladyship, thank you,” Sansa says softly, smiling back. She really was quite tired. A moon at sea and three weeks on the road coupled with sleepless nights has made her long for a warm bath.

“Come then!” Joanna says lightly, leading them into a hall where bread and salt were waiting.

When guest right was invoked, the Lady Lannister herself leads the Starks to their quarters for the time. The rest of their retinue are led to their rooms by the other household members. Cersei bids them goodnight and goes to see her son.

Walking through the castle itself was tiring. It was much larger than the keep at Winterfell, with so many twists and turns. The walls were solid rock with crevices filled with some sort of amber glass, letting the last of the sunlight shine through. Lannister banners hung on the walls, with ornate vases and fancy statuettes scattered throughout the castle. The castle’s beauty struck Sansa, but she could not help feel how wasteful some of it was. Things were very different back in the North. 

Going deeper into the castle, torches started to illuminate their way. They finally reach a hall near where Lady Joanna stops.

“You all must be weary, so I had supper brought to your rooms tonight,” she says kindly,

“My Lady, you need not fuss so much,” Ned Stark answers, slightly embarrassed. 

“It’s alright,” Joanna smiles. "A hot bath is waiting too. I assigned a handmaiden to each of you and a squire for your father. If you need anything, just ask.”

“Thank you, Lady Lannister,” Sansa says sincerely. She truly was grateful for Joanna Lannister’s tact. A hot bath and a good night’s rest was just what she needed to prepare her to face the lions on the morrow. 

“Rest well, and feel free to sleep past the breaking of fast. I know the journey was long. Come join us for the evening meal tomorrow.”

She bids them goodnight and leaves them at that. 

Sansa enters her room and her mouth drops. The room is larger than both hers and Arya’s rooms in Winterfell combined. There is a four-poster bed with burgundy drapings that could be shut. A vanity stands in the corner and beside it, her trunks. Near the fireplace, a table with two chairs stand. Going through the doorway on the south end, she sees that it holds a tub with steaming hot water. 

_No wardrobe around here, she thinks._

_Right, I am moving into the family wing after a week. The thought makes her queasy. She isn’t ready._

A knock on her door brings her out of her musings, and she goes to open it. A handmaiden stands outside.

“Good day, Lady Sansa,” she says, doing a curtsy. "I am Ireyne, your assigned handmaiden.”

Sansa greets her in return, letting her in the room. Lady is sleeping on the bed. 

“Shall I help you bathe, my Lady?”

Sansa shakes her head. Her handmaiden looks confused.

“I’m perfectly capable on my own,” she smiles. "Please unpack the trunk on the far right. My nightgowns and brushes are in there.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” Ireyne replies, going through her task. 

Sansa proceeds to the bathing room, strips, and slips into the hot bath. She sighs as she feels the warmth wash away the weariness. She dips her head for a moment and rises. She chooses a lemon-scented bottle from the selection of oils and soaps left beside the tub and lathers her hair, washing away the grime from the long trip. She scrubs herself clean and oils her hair afterwards.

_I have to make friends here, she thinks, as she soaks. And it is always good to have the household on your side._

When she feels the water cooling, she rises and dries herself, rubbing sweet-scented oils onto her skin before slipping on a robe. When she comes back to her room, a nightgown is laid out on the bed, and her brushes and jewelry box has been set up on the vanity. Supper was laid out on the table - a hot bowl of beef and barley stew with a side of fresh bread, fresh greens drizzled in orange dressing, and a platter of fruit. Sansa’s mouth waters. 

She eats her fill, grateful for the hearty warm meal. She feeds her wolf the meat brought alongside her meal. Ireyne comes back to brush her hair and clear her plates. 

“Thank you, Ireyne,” Sansa says lightly, slipping her some coin. "That will be all. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The handmaiden happily thanks her, and leaves her as she wishes.

Changing into her nightgown, Sansa crawls into bed. Weary to the bone, sleep claims her quickly for the first time in moons. 

The Starks sleep well past the morning. Sansa finally feels rested enough. She chooses a green dress of a lighter fabric to help her stand the hotter weather of the Westerlands.

“Ireyne, would you please help me get to the godswood? I’d like some fresh air.” 

“Of course, my Lady!” her handmaiden answers.

Sansa smiles and grasps Ireyne’s hand, softly replying. "Sansa. Just Sansa when we aren’t in public.”

Ireyne smiles back and nods. They make their way to the Stone Garden, with Lady following them around. The weirwood tree is not as big as the one back home, but Sansa already feels less homesick seeing it.

“Thank you, Ireyne, I can make my way back.”

She spends her afternoon walking with her wolf around the godswood, trying to gather her thoughts. Her new home was beautiful, no doubt, but she felt completely out of her depth. She says a small prayer before walking back to her room to prepare for the evening meal with the rest of the lions.

_Can I manage this keep as I did Winterfell? At least Lady Joanna seems kind. Mayhaps kind enough to even guide me._

Sansa changes into a deep blue dress that brings out her eyes. Ireyne braids her hair in, putting it into a bun. She dons her favorite dragonfly necklace.

Taking a deep breath, she steps out of her room. Her father and her sister are waiting, and all three are led to a lavish dining hall where the rest of the Lannisters have begun assembling. 

Lady Joanna smiles, calling her over to introduce her to the Lord of the Westerlands.

“My Lord,” Sansa says as she curtsies. "Thank you for so kindly welcoming my family to your home.” 

“Lady Sansa,” Lord Tywin intones, voice serious. "We have waited quite some time to meet you.”

“As have I, my Lord,” Sansa replies. "The castle is breathtaking, although I may be getting lost for some time while learning the routes.”

Tywin only hums back. 

“I trust your mother has taught you well on how a household is run?” he asks. Lady Joanna beside him looks slightly annoyed at his bluntness. 

“She has. I hope I can manage well, but I am a quick learner when the need arises, my Lord,” Sansa answers, polite as ever.

_Courtesy is a lady’s armor._

“Come! Supper is ready!” Joanna announces. 

They are introduced to the rest of the extended family, and the meal begins. Kevan Lannister is a portly man with all the bearings of a dutiful knight. His wife, Dorna, is quiet and shy. She looked possibly even more uncomfortable at the gathering compared to the Starks. 

The Lady Genna Lannister is a proud woman and a commanding presence, with a sharp tongue and strong wits about her. She scoffed when Ned asks about her husband’s whereabouts, saying she preferred to leave the halfwit at home. Sansa knows instantly that her favor will be difficult to win over. 

Most of the conversation during the meal revolved around her. The Lannisters were very curious, trying to read into her. Did she like reading? What kind of books did she read? Did she like riding? Hawking? Embroidery? Was she willing to convert and pray to the Seven? _As if I had a choice, Sansa thinks._ What was life growing up in the North like? Has she traveled much before? 

Sansa remains polite through what felt like an interrogation. Her father is asked how things were back in the North. The biggest reaction from the group was when she let slip that her little sister was taking swordsmanship lessons. The mostly looked doubtful and a tiny bit judgmental at that. 

Lady Cersei only says a few words during the meal, preferring to observe her future sister-in-law’s decorum. She thought Sansa might soon snap back at Aunt Genna, as so many have tried and failed to do so, but the girl was the picture of propriety.

_You may survive us yet, Little Wolf, Cersei thinks to herself._

“When does the royal family arrive?” Ned Stark asks, when the plates are being cleared.

“Tomorrow. Scouts have reported sighting the royal party just outside Lannisport,” Joanna answers. 

There is a shift in the mood of the room. Most are tense, knowing that the only reason this was happening was because of orders from the King. 

“Well then, we must put forth our best,” Lady Genna replies, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“I shall send a squire to summon you to join us in welcoming them,” was all Joanna says to Ned. He nods in thanks. 

“Thank you for the lovely evening, your Ladyship, my Lord, and to the rest of your family,” Sansa says as she curtseys. 

The Starks walk back to their quarters, finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. They survived dining with the lions. For Sansa, this would be the first of many. She is tired just thinking about it. 

“Will we _have_ to be there welcoming the King?” Arya whines. "It’s already his fault my sister’s got to marry the Kingslayer!”

Ned immediately hushes Arya. Sansa has to smile at her sister’s sudden outburst. 

“Do not call him that while we are here. We are surrounded by his family, and Sansa is to be his wife,” Ned admonishes her seriously. "Be careful and think of your sister.”

Arya sobers up albeit grumpily, rambling under her breath as she makes her way to her room. 

Sansa gets little sleep that night. Tomorrow, she finally meets the man who threw an innocent girl’s life away to secure the North’s allegiance to the crown. 

_First my aunt, now me, she thinks, lying in bed. Are women only tools to you, she seethes. Try as you may to break me, but the Crown will never have my allegiance._

The royal party arrives past noon. The King rides in first, decked in shining black armor emblazoned with the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen. His Kingsguard ride through next, followed by a wheelhouse. The rest of their company are led to a different courtyard where they could unload their packed belongings. 

Everyone kneels before King Rhaegar. 

“Rise, my Lords,” he orders. 

Sansa watches him exchange pleasantries with Lord Tywin. The King had an air of elegance around him. He was quite beautiful, with deep purple eyes and long silver hair. But there was something about him that made Sansa’s skin crawl.

“Welcome to Casterly Rock, Your Grace,” Tywin Lannister says in greeting. "We hope the journey has been uneventful and that you all are well.”

“We are,” Rhaegar answers, eyeing the welcoming party. "Travels were smooth and the roads peaceful.” 

Neither Cersei nor Jaime joined them to welcome the royal family. If Rhaegar noticed, he said nothing.

The wheelhouse opens, and the Hand of the King steps down first followed by Queen Elia, her two children, and Prince Viserys. They all bow before the royal family. 

“I thank you all for the warm welcome,” Elia says graciously. "But if I may, I would like to rest for today. I’ve always found traveling to be quite tiring.”

“Of course, my Queen,” Joanna answers, moving to lead them all into the hall where the bread and salt were waiting. Guest right is invoked, and they are led to the chambers prepared for them.

Sansa does her best to avoid any member of the royal family for the remainder of the week. She spends her time with her sister instead, watching her train out in the yards or walking through the godswood. Ned Stark lets her be, only asking if she wanted anything every now and then.

_I want this betrothal broken. I want to go home, marry someone from the North, and live there forever. But Sansa knew that it was only a dream now._

The day before the wedding, Lady Joanna invites her for tea. 

“Lady Sansa, come, have some tea and cakes,” Joanna tells her, smiling. "It will help calm your heart.”

Sansa flushes. She has been jittery all day, feet pitter-pattering on the ground when seated, eyes looking everywhere, hands trembling - her mind keeps turning. She does not know if she is afraid or nervous or excited. 

“I apologize, my Lady -”

“For what?” Joanna asks. "You’re marrying a stranger tomorrow. I understand if that fills you with quite a bit of apprehension.”

Sansa exhales a laugh. Joanna chuckles warmly. Suddenly, she feels lighter.

“Thank you, my Lady,” she says, accepting a honey cake.

“Do you favor honey cakes?” Joanna asks, taking a bite out of hers. "I apologize if you don’t, but I do have such a liking for sweet things.”

“They’re delicious, but I’ve always loved lemon cakes the most,” Sansa answers honestly, smiling to herself as she remembered her last nameday when her siblings surprised her with a platter full of them. 

“I’ll have to remember that.”

Both women eat and drink in companionable silence for a moment. 

“If I may inquire, Lady Sansa,” Joanna asks. "Has your mother told you what to expect tomorrow night?”

Sansa flushes again.

“Yes, your Ladyship. She and my septa have told me what happens in - in the marriage bed,” she manages to get out.

_Gods, this is awkward._

Joanna gives a small smile.

“Are you afraid?” she asks Sansa.

Sansa looks at her, eyes wide, unable to answer.

 _Terrified, my Lady, but this is your son we speak of_.

“I understand if you are,” Joanna continues softly. "Our septas indoctrinate us with all the duties of a woman, serving her husband. It’s all we hear as young girls.”

Sansa nods slightly.

“I want you to know that no one will hurt you. You can come to me, should you need someone - a woman to talk to or confide in,” Joanna says. "I know you can send ravens to your mother, but that will take time.”

Joanna leans to grasp both her hands.

“I understand how intimidating my family can be,” she goes on, giving a soft laugh at Sansa’s expression. "But my door is always open for you, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa almost cries at that. 

“Thank you, your Ladyship,” Sansa answers softly, heart breaking. "You are most kind.”

She sleeps fitfully that night, thinking how much she misses her mother. But mostly because tomorrow, she weds the Kingslayer. 

III. The Wedding

Jaime is dressed and waiting for his mother and sister who will escort him with to the castle sept. He wears a white tunic under a golden brocade vest with a deep red belt. His breeches are dusty gold, and he has a pair of old boots put on. His cape is Lannister red with a snarling lion embroidered into it.

He looks lordly but feels like a jape.

Cersei knocks and enters, dressed in a deep green gown that brought out her eyes. 

“Never thought I would actually see you _get_ married,” she muses out loud. 

“Even as punishment by order of that Silver Twit?” 

She laughs.

“Come now, it isn’t so bad,” she says. "I think I might like Lady Sansa.”

Jaime scoffs, grabbing the last orange slice on the fruit platter.

“You’ve spoken with her then?” he asks. 

“Hmm, no - I watched her as our family hounded her with questions about herself,” Cersei says. "Probably trying to provoke her to prove her worth.”

“Trying to find fault this early?” Jaime sighs back. What else did he expect from them? 

“Aunt Genna said she was definitely the most bland and boring girl with a head full of air.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. No one was ever good enough for his aunt, even if they were a Lannister.

“Mayhaps they were trying to get a reaction out of her. She was only courteous in return,” Cersei replies. "Something tells me she isn’t as shallow as she wants the rest of them to think.”

Joanna Lannister enters the room then, dressed in a gown of deep burgundy.

“Mother, you look lovely,” Cersei chirps. Joanna smiles in thanks.

Turning to Jaime, she asks, "Are you ready? The guests have started getting bored.”

Jaime gives a dramatic sigh that makes his mother smile. The three make their way to the castle sept.

\-----

Sansa is all nerves as she looks at herself one last time in the mirror. Her gown is white silk with weirwood leaves embroidered at the sides. It is a modest cut, laced up the back, with sleeves that end mid-arm and drip to her ankles. She has pale blue flowers braided into her hair. 

Arya is beside her, looking at her sister in awe. Lady is sitting beside the mirror, watchful as ever. 

“You look beautiful,” Ned Stark’s voice says from the doorway. 

Sansa smiles at her father. 

“Arya, your septa is waiting for you outside,” Ned tells his youngest daughter.

Arya is unusually quiet that day, only nodding in return. She rises and squeezes Sansa’s hand, offering her sister every shred of courage she has before leaving them to talk.

Sansa’s heart swells with gratitude. She and Arya had their differences, but they have become the strongest of allies. 

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” her father says, not knowing what else to say. Ned Stark was no great parent to Sansa. She was a portrait of a lady in the songs. He loved her just as much as her siblings, but he was never quite certain how to approach parenting her. He left that to Catelyn. 

It never took much for Sansa to figure out that she was who the King made her father give up in recompense - a move made to keep the Starks loyal to the crown. 

A cruel fate for an innocent girl caught in the cross-hairs of grown men’s wars. 

“It was never your fault the rebellion was lost,” Sansa says softly. Never did she hold a bitter grudge against her father for simply submitting to the King’s orders. She learned too early that wars only brought suffering and pain on both sides. But her burning hatred for the Targaryen King, she would never quench.

They are silent for a moment. 

“I wish Mother were here,” Sansa whispers. "And Robb, and Bran, and Rickon -”

She stops before her tears break through.

She used to dream of a wedding in spring. A day celebrating a union borne from love - she would be giddy with excitement, surrounded by her family. Her groom would be a handsome lord, tall and strong, with honor to his name and great renown around the realm. They would be happy. 

Taking a deep breath, she turns around to arrange her dress.

Lady walks to her side, and Sansa strokes her head.

“You’ll have to stay here for now,” she tells her direwolf sadly.

Sweet Lady nudges her gently, licking her hand before going to lounge on her bed. Her father offers her his arm, and together, they make their way to the sept. 

\-----

Sansa’s heart is in her throat as they reach the sept doors. She and her father are asked to stand behind a steward’s wife. The septon began the long list of prayers from the Book of the Father. The thought of the guests dozing off calms her down a little. She wishes she had her direwolf beside her, but Lord Tywin firmly ordered Lady to be kept in her room.

And then it was time for her to enter. Taking a deep breath, she walks through the doors, gripping her father’s arm tightly as they follow the procession. Crystal chandeliers lit with thousands of candles were hanging from the ceiling. The windows and the dome were stained textured glass, covering the sept in a myriad colors of light. The statues of the seven gods around the sept were gigantic, maybe two times the height of a grown man. It was ethereal. 

She does not look around the audience they have, not wanting to see angry faces of families who have been trying to claim the daughter of a great house for their own.

No, she has enough to deal with.

She sets her eyes on Ser Jaime Lannister for the first time. He stands beside the septon, gazing upon her with an intense yet unreadable expression. She suddenly feels bared before him - unguarded in every way. She has heard of what he looks like, but seeing him for the first time herself still surprises her. He has the Lannister looks about him - blonde hair longer than it usually was and green eyes shaped like his mother’s. His beard is cleanly shaven, and he stands tall and proud just like his father. 

_Well, thank the Gods he resembles his mother more, Sansa thinks._

She would be lying to herself if she thinks he had a passably pretty face for a lord. He looked like a god amongst mortal men.

Sansa steals a look at her father, who has become more rigid when he sees Ser Jaime. He looks angrier, probably remembering how he found the Kingslayer on the Iron Throne.

Ser Jaime only nods solemnly at her when she walks up beside him, and takes her right hand. They turn to face the septon.

\-----

 _Yes, yes, please just end this, Jaime thinks as the septon drones on_.

The procession starts, and he feels his heartbeat getting louder. 

He sees her for the first time, curiously admiring the sept and the lights around them. 

He has been told she was a great beauty of the North. His father’s bannermen have tried to describe her to him - going on about how she inherited the Tully look and how pretty she was. 

Her hair is fiery red, blue flowers adorning the simple Northern hairstyle. Her eyes were icy blue, looking back at him. Her sweet rosebud mouth is pressed in a neutral line, giving nothing away.

Jaime exhales as she reaches him, offering her his hand.

She is exquisite and delicate all at once. 

\-----

The septon tells Jaime, "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Jaime lets go of her hand and unclasps her cloak. He folds it neatly and hands it to his waiting sister. Unclasping his cloak, red and gold with the snarling lion of the proud Lannisters, he drapes it over her shoulders. Sansa always knew she was a tall girl, but her groom was a head taller than her. She lifts her hair to help him and lets him affix the clasp at the base of her throat, avoiding his eyes. 

Sansa feels warmer. 

They turn back to the septon, and he takes her hand once again. 

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of husband and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The septon brings forth a red ribbon and knots it around their joined hands. 

“Let it be known that Jaime of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be those who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

Unraveling the ribbon, the septon says to them, "Look upon each other and say the words.”

Sansa feels their audience vanish as she looks to Jaime. 

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger...”

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Sansa suddenly feels a rush of anxiety building up for what’s next. It feels like an hour has passed before Jaime proclaims, "With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. They turn to face their audience, all applauding and cheering, mostly out of courtesy. Her mind is hazy and she feels a little faint at how illusive everything seems. Glancing over to her husband, it is clear he too cares little for this kind of attention. 

Jaime leads her down the steps through the aisle of highborns offering their congratulations and throwing meaningless flattery at them. She can still feel his kiss. He holds her hand as he leads her to the Great Hall where the feast has been set up.

Sansa’s jaw drops slightly open upon seeing a set of great doors with a majestic pride of lions carved around them.

“Welcome to the lion’s den.”

She suddenly remembers she is with her husband -

_Husband. This all feels so strange._

His lips curve up in amusement. 

“Well, we’ve got to go in. They’re all right behind us.”

“As you say, Ser.”

They enter and head for the table set on the dais. On their left, the royal family settles in, the Lannisters and the Starks on the right. The music starts almost immediately, and the chattering grows louder as everyone begins to feast. 

Sansa realizes how hungry she actually is when she sees the feast set up before her. Roastings, carvings, pies of all sorts, vegetable casseroles, and bread baskets filled to the brim lined the table. She and her husband give their best performance as a happy couple when they cut the pigeon pie.

She alternates between awkward conversations with Jaime, and talking to her sister who switches places with her father to sit closer to her. Her husband was also quite awkward, serving her choice portions every now and then, looking quite stiff. She notices he drinks no wine.

She makes the mistake of glancing to the royal table where she sees the King’s gaze lingering on her. She does not know if Queen Elia takes notice, but Sansa is unnerved. 

The music for dancing thankfully begins, and the couple is called to dance.

Ser Jaime offers her his hand, and she gladly accepts. Anything to get away from the King.

As they dance, Sansa cannot help but steal glances at the royal table. Her husband seems to notice her discomfort, as she feels his thumb stroking the small of her back gently as they take a turn around the room. 

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly says.

“My Lord?” Sansa asks, confused.

“I know you would never have wanted to marry me,” he says quietly.

Sansa looks at him. He is watching her solemnly.

“We follow what the King commands, Ser,” she answers simply, looking away.

“Jaime.”

The dance ends, and he leads her back to the table where dessert is being served.

“My name is Jaime.”

She does not know what to say. Her septa never covered this part. 

_Gods, why did we have to marry as strangers. He is a graceful dancer at the very least._

They are seated, watching the merriments go by. Arya has bid her goodnight, giving her a long hug after their dance, too sleepy to continue participating in the festivities. Ned Stark is sulking in a corner.

Sansa feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up to see Lady Cersei smiling. 

“Will you walk with me, Lady Lannister? I find myself wanting some fresh air.”

She smiles back graciously and stands to follow her. Glancing at her husband, she sees his back to her, talking to his mother. So she leaves.

Cersei walks with her out of the Great Hall, leading her down a series of hallways until they reach one open to and facing the Sunset Sea. The breeze is refreshing.

“How are you faring?” she asks Sansa.

“Alright, I - I suppose, my Lady,” Sansa says. 

“And are you nervous for tonight? You’ve seen the men watching you, waiting for someone to call for the bedding ceremony.”

Sansa trembles at the thought of it. She’s always hated that tradition.

“I suppose we all must endure,” Sansa says softly, looking over the waters. 

“Jaime’s chambers are down this hall, last door on the right,” Cersei says, smiling. 

Sansa faces her, brow knitting.

“I thought -”

“Did you really think we would let you go through that after today?” Cersei asks. 

Sansa is at a loss for words.

“I - does Lord Jaime - I - I did not -” 

Cersei holds her hand gently, saying, "He asked me to sneak you out. He’ll meet you there, don’t fret, little wolf.”

Sansa breathes out a sigh of relief. She feels lighter, even with all the nerves knowing what is coming.

“Come,” Cersei says, looping her arm through hers. "Best we get you there quickly before they all realize you’re missing.”

Sansa smiles gratefully, and both women walk towards the room. When they reach the door, Cersei holds it open for her. 

“It will be alright, little wolf,” she says kindly.

Sansa squeezes her hand in thanks and enters the room, door shutting behind her. 

His room is even bigger than her quarters. He has a small solar with a dining table and three chairs that sit near the window. A writing desk is set up on the side with a bookshelf and a stand of drawers near the wall. Two sets of upholsteries are in the center of the room. 

Going through to his bedroom, she sees a recliner placed in front of the fireplace. He has a few trunks lying to either side as well as two wardrobes. She opens the door at the end of the room near a wardrobe and sees the dressing room. A dressing screen stands close to one of the trunks. Another door, presumably leading to the bath, stands on the other corner. Her eyes fall on his bed, and her heart flutters. 

She hopes he will not hurt her. 

She has stripped off her cloak at the feast, not wanting to faint from the heat. She walks to his balcony, trying to calm herself with deep breaths while admiring the moon shining on the sea. All she has to do now is wait.

\-----

When Jaime sees Cersei enter the Great Hall again, he knows it is time to sneak off. She meets his eyes and only raises a brow. He nods back in gratitude. 

The girl has been through enough today. She certainly does not need more strange and vile men clawing at her.

He quietly walks off to the sides in the guise of grabbing some ale. He manages to sneak past the thickest part of the mostly-drunk crowd before finally slipping out the Great Hall.

He walks back to his room briskly before they realize that both he and his wife have escaped the bedding ceremony. His father’s words are ringing in his head.

_“You will bed her and produce an heir. Do your duty for once in your life.”_

Jaime rolls his eyes, as if he hasn’t been acting Lord of Casterly Rock since his father was appointed Master of Laws. He knows Tywin Lannister is too shrewd to be fooled by a drop of blood from a cut on the sheets. His father probably had spies around his room. Sighing, he accepts that he would have to do his duty tonight. He vows to leave the girl alone afterwards.

\-----

Sansa hears the door open and shut. Her heart starts hammering. 

_Deep breaths, she thinks. It will be over soon._

She walks back to the solar and faces her husband. He is standing at the table, filling two cups with water.

“Drink, my Lady?” he offers.

She shakes her head. 

"No, thank you, Ser.”

“Jaime,” he reminds her. "Please, call me Jaime.”

“Yes, my- Jaime, I’m sorry,” she squeaks.

He bows his head, a smile on his lips. 

She composes herself. 

“You may call me Sansa,” she says, trying to control the shaking in her voice. 

“As you wish, Sansa,” he says.

They are silent for a moment. 

“Would you mayhaps prefer - talking a bit first, seeing as we’ve only just met at the wedding,” Jaime suddenly says.

Sansa’s curses the King silently. 

“If that’s what my Lord would like,” Sansa replies. 

Jaime sighs upon hearing her revert back to courtesies. 

“I am sorry for all this,” he says, gesturing towards the room. "If I had a say, I would have broken the betrothal long ago.”

Sansa looks at him, as if gauging his sincerity. 

“We are all faithful subjects of the Crown.” she says, eyes blank.

Jaime looks at her for a moment before taking a sip of water. 

Sansa hands move behind her and starts to untie the laces at her waist, loosening her gown. She thinks she might lose all the courage she has slowly built up if this goes on longer.

Her husband stops her. 

“I’d rather just have it done, Ser,” she whispers.

“Are you certain?” Jaime asks, tilting her chin to look in her eyes.

Sansa’s resolve solidifies.

“I know my duty.”

He nods once at that and urges her to turn around gently. She feels his fingers deftly unlacing the dress. Cool air hits her back once the laces are untied, and she shivers as she shrugs out of the garment. He takes it from her and walks to the bedroom, draping it over one of his trunks. She follows him, now only in her shift and her smallclothes. 

He strips off the golden brocade and his undershirt and toes off his boots, leaving him only in his breeches. Years of training have made him slim around the middle with broad shoulders. He walks back to her and takes her hand.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” he tells her seriously. 

Sansa nods to him slowly. He kisses her then.

The kiss is slow and gentle. She mimics his movements, her hands holding onto his forearms, feeling embarrassed at her obvious inexperience, but he only holds her steady. Her breaths come in quicker when he breaks the kiss. 

Jaime’s hand cups her face, stroking her cheek, waiting for her to calm down. His hands start undoing her braids, picking the flowers out of her hair. Sansa helps him, almost comforted by the gesture. He bends slightly, tugging her arm around his shoulders. She gasps as he suddenly scoops her up and carries her over to his bed. He sets her down gently and moves to kneel in front of her.

His cups her face as he kisses her again. Sansa thinks she might enjoy kissing. 

Her husband sits back and pulls her to him slowly but firmly, guiding her to straddle him. Her shift has ridden up, and Sansa has to battle every lesson of modesty her septa drilled into her.

Jaime’s hands are gently stroking the bare skin of her thighs, watching her for any discomfort. His touch burns through her.

“Were you told it will hurt?” he asks. 

Sansa nods truthfully. Her septa always told her that it was her duty to let her husband take her and bear him heirs, no matter the pain a woman might feel. 

“They say the first time hurts the most,” Sansa says. "Other times after, it’s usually quicker and less painful.”

If Jaime thinks she is wrong, he says nothing. His hand only moves further up her shift, his eyes looking to her for permission. 

Sansa swallows and nods. She feels him untying and tugging down her smallclothes, so she shifts to lie beside him and help him. When they are off, he drops them beside the bed, and guides her to straddle him again. 

Jaime pulls her close, kissing her cheek. He trails kisses down her neck to her shoulder, listening to her breathing as he goes. His hands are stroking down her sides. 

Sansa sighs, holding on to his shoulders.

Jaime’s hand starts stroking up her thigh again. He’s looking at her, and she nods. 

Sansa closes her eyes, bracing for pain, but she feels him start stroking her folds. 

She can feel him watching her. She is much too shy to ask what he is doing. She feels wetness pooling between her legs as her breath quickens. She wonders why he hasn’t taken her yet. 

His hand switches to gather the pooling wetness and rub it onto her nub. Sansa gasps at the sudden pleasure that jolts through her.

Jaime continues, and she can feel some sort of pressure building within her. When he slips a finger into her, she cannot stop her whimper of pleasure.

“Alright?” Jaime asks.

Sansa looks at him and nods. She sees his pupils blown black, green lining them. 

Jaime starts to thrust his finger while his thumb circles her nub, and Sansa mewls, her head falling onto his shoulder. His other hand strokes her back, and she feels his lips gently kissing her shoulder.

He adds another finger and Sansa’s breath hitches. The spark inside her is growing. 

“I- what -” she pants.

“Let go, Sansa,” he whispers into her ear, and he licks and suckles on her earlobe.

The pressure builds, and suddenly, a wave of pleasure washes over her and she cries out, clenching against his fingers. Sansa slumps into him, catching her breath. 

He is gentle as he lays her down on her side, facing him. 

“What- what was that?” Sansa asks.

“It’s called a peak,” Jaime answers. "It will ease things for you.”

They are quiet for a moment, his thumb circling her hip.

“I think I’m ready, my Lord,” Sansa whispers.”

Jaime looks at her for a moment before rising from the bed. He strips off his breeches.

Sansa catches a sight of his cock jutting out from a thatch of dusty blonde hair curlier than the ones on his head. She quickly averts her eyes, cheeks turning pink. 

Jaime climbs back onto the bed and moves over her. He places a knee between her legs and pushes her shift up. Sansa spreads her legs to let him settle into the cradle of her thighs.

He reaches down and places the tip against her folds. She whimpers, still sensitive. She braces herself on his arms, hands gripping tighter as he pushes into her. The feeling is wholly new, stretching her. The pinch of the sting makes her cry out softly, tears wetting her eyes.

“I can stop, Sansa -”

“No - only - wait a moment, please,” she whispers. 

He holds himself still over her and strokes her brow, letting her get used to the feel of him.

Sansa nods to him, and he rocks his hips into her, setting a slow rhythm. The pain subsides with every passing moment. His hand strokes down between them and circles her nub, and Sansa's breath stutters as pleasure starts to course through her with every thrust. 

The moaning from her husband make her flush even deeper, and she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her head in his shoulder. Jaime groans as he spills into her moments later. 

They lie still, catching their breath. She whimpers as he pulls out of her, feeling his seed trickle down. He rises and walks to the bath.

Sansa is staring up at the canopy, dazed. 

She knew what to expect. Catelyn Stark and Septa Mordane made sure to prepare her. With all that they told her, she expected the bedding with the Kingslayer to be brutal. 

She does not hear her husband return. She only comes back to herself when she feels him gently wiping her between her legs with a warm washcloth. 

She sees he has put on a pair of linen breeches.

“There’s a basin with warm water in the bathing room,” he says. Sansa takes the cloth from him, and winces as she sits up. He turns around and moves to one of his trunks, his back to her to give her privacy. 

She notices a spot of blood on the sheets when she stands to go to the bath and wash. 

After urinating and cleaning herself up, she walks back to the bedroom. Her husband is sitting on the foot of the bed, looking at her as she walks to him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes concerned.

She walks to him in her ruined shift.

“Yes, I -” she whispers. "Th-thank you,” she says, unable to say more. 

Jaime holds her hand for a moment, thumb stroking her fingers before letting go. He hands her a soft undershirt.

“It’s mine. Probably too big for you, but your things won’t get here until tomorrow,” he explains. "I thought you might not want to sleep in that shift.”

Sansa smiles gratefully. 

"Thank you,” she says. "Jaime,” she adds after a moment. He smiles back.

She moves behind the screen to change. The linen shirt reaches mid-thigh. 

_It will have to do for tonight, she thinks._

Her husband is lying on one side of the bed, facing the ceiling, when she comes out. She crawls under the covers beside him, lying on her side facing him. 

“Sleep well, Lady Sansa,” he murmurs. 

“And you, Ser Jaime.”

  
  


IV. Quietude

Sansa wakes up to cool darkness. Looking around her, she sees the curtains drawn around the bed. She stretches her limbs gently, wincing at the slight soreness she feels between her legs. 

She glances to see her husband already awake. 

“Good morrow, my Lord,” she says, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. 

“Jaime,” he reminds her.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, as he sits up and opens the drapes. He goes to grab something from his wardrobe.

“As well as I could have.” 

Sansa feels her stomach growl as the smell of bacon wafts through the open drapes. She sees that breakfast has been served to them. She moves to get out of bed, but remembers that she wears only his shirt. 

“Here,” he says, handing her a robe. "Your things should get here before noon.” 

Sansa says her thanks, slipping it on, and joins him for the breaking of fast. 

They are quiet, both wondering how one goes about getting to know a stranger for a spouse. Sansa nibbles on a slice of buttered toast, lost in thought. 

_Newly married - doesn’t feel any different, really, but what now, she wonders._

“I think my mother will be meeting you later,” Jaime says, snapping her out of her musings. 

“Wh-what for?” she wonders.

_Have I done something to displease her Ladyship?_

“To talk to you, I’d imagine, about running the keep” he answers. "You are to be the Lady of the Rock after all.”

_Right. Amidst all this, I forgot that part._

“Where will you be, m-s-Jaime?” she asks.

“I have to go settle a few disputes the bannermen have over grain supply. My father will be expecting a report tomorrow,” he sighs. 

“Do you not like it?” Sansa suddenly blurts out. 

He tilts his head. 

“Like what?”

“Being a Lord, I guess,” she says. "Having to rule over the Westerlands.”

Jaime gives a humorless laugh. 

“I prefer the battlefield, if that’s what you want to know, but we all have our duties. When Rhaegar gave Father his heir back, he made sure there was no longer any escape to that,” he answers. 

Sansa nods at his response. 

“And you, my Lady,” he asks. "How did you come to learn to run a keep?”

_The Rebellion. My mother nearing her time in the birthing bed. Two younger siblings who still needed her care. I had to step in to fill her role._

“We were at war,” Sansa shrugs. "And my mother needed someone helping her while my father was fighting away.”

“How old were you?” Jaime asks, with an understanding look on his face.

“Ten,” Sansa says, eyes far away. 

The talk stops after that, her husband only averting his eyes and nodding in response. His squire comes in not long after, preparing Jaime’s clothes while Jaime bathes. As soon as he is dressed, he straps on his sword and bids her a good day, going his way to meet the bannermen. 

Ireyne comes in shortly, bidding her good morning. She runs Sansa a bath while Sansa finishes her breakfast.

“Your things will be here soon, my Lady,” her handmaiden tells her as she clears the plates. 

“Sansa,” she reminds her, smiling. "Thank you, Ireyne. If you could, please bring out the pale blue dress I have? It should be in the blue trunk.”

“Of course, m-Sansa,” Ireyne nods. 

Sansa bathes, feeling more refreshed and ready to face the day after. She knows she must bid her family goodbye first, as they leave before noon. The sadness of having to be separated from her sister crushes her heart. She knows she can write letters. And her direwolf will be with her. 

Lady and Ireyne are in the room waiting when she comes out of the bath. Ireyne is visibly terrified. 

When she sees her mistress, the direwolf bounds over, happily licking at Sansa’s cheeks. Sansa laughs happily for the first time in days. Her arms encircle Lady’s neck, and she buries her nose in her fur, inhaling deeply. 

_She will always smell of the North. Of home._

“M-my Lady?” 

Sansa rises, saying. "Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s gentle.”

Ireyne does not look too certain, so Sansa sends Lady to lie near the bed while her handmaiden brushes her hair. Ireyne helps her dress and braid her hair in a simple Northern style. Sansa refuses to carry such a heavy headpiece all day as the women of the Westerlands do. 

There is a knock on the door. Ireyne opens it to reveal her father and her sister. 

Arya runs to her, and the Stark sisters embrace each other. Sansa feels tears leaking out of her eyes.

“Write as much as you can,” Arya’s muffled voice says. 

“I promise,” Sansa whispers back. 

She walks with them to the courtyard where their horses and wagons. are waiting, the Northerners ready to leave. Arya gives her one last hug before climbing onto her horse. They share a glance, a world of understanding passing between them.

_I’m alright. He did not hurt me. I will survive in the lion’s den._

_Good._

Sansa turns to bid her father goodbye. 

“Are you alright?” Lord Stark asks her. 

“I am well, Father,” she answers sincerely. "He was kind.”

Ned nods at that, but his face is filled with doubt.

“Take care, Sansa,” he says, kissing her forehead.

“Send my love to Mother and Robb,” Sansa says. "And Bran and Rickon. I’ll visit as soon as I am able.”

Her father nods, climbing onto his own horse. 

Sansa watches the retinue until she could no longer see the last wagon.

She walks through the Godswood to clear her head before meeting with the Lady Joanna for the afternoon meal. 

“I hear your mother taught you well,” Joanna begins. "With regards to running a household.”

“She did, your Ladyship,” Sansa says. "Although I may need some time to get used to this. Casterly Rock is much larger than Winterfell.”

“No matter, dear girl,” she smiles, holding her hand gently. "Do not fret or shy away from me if you need help.” 

Sansa smiles genuinely. She knows Joanna Lannister will be the first true friend she has here. 

The day goes by quickly, with Sansa introduced to the rest of the household as they tour the castle. Lady Joanna then goes over the accounts with her, showing her how they allocated expenditures for the keep and wages for the servants. She is overwhelmed by the end of it, but determined. It felt just like managing Winterfell save that there was no great fear of food shortage. And they were much less frugal here compared to the North.

_The Lannister gold really does make a world of difference._

Supper that night with her husband is at least less awkward. He was able to settle the disputes, distributing the grain stores equally but taxing the hoarders a higher amount. He took what was left over down to the shelters down at Lannisport.

“Those lords are well-fed enough,” Jaime says nonchalantly. "The looks on their faces they realized how trivial all their bickering was - almost made me laugh out loud.”

Sansa smiles. She tells him truthfully how she may need some time to learn about the household. 

“It’s just - I’m not quite used to having more money to spend,” she rushes. 

Jaime lips curl slightly, and he says, "You’ll manage well enough. You look like you have a good head about you.”

“What concerns do the servants bring forth the most?” Sansa asks. 

Jaime thinks for a moment, throwing a small piece of meat to Lady who was lounging at their feet. Her direwolf sleeps in their room on the floor next to Sansa. Lady has taken kindly to Jaime, and this soothes Sansa’s mind. Her direwolf was always a good judge of character.

“The quarters, I hear. Father was never truly as considerate as Mother is, always putting off repairs for more investments elsewhere.”

“Do you think they’re paid well enough?” she dares ask.

Jaime does not look bothered.

“I overhear the kitchen girls and maids complain how much less they get compared to the squires or guards and stable boys, sometimes,” Jaime answers truthfully. "Probably Tywin Lannister’s doing as well.”

Sansa thinks for a moment, smiling as she plans her adjustments to Casterly Rock’s accounts. 

“Thank you, Jaime,” she says, smiling. 

When they get ready for bed, Sansa feels her heart start fluttering again. But her husband does not touch her. He only bids her good night as he keeps to his side of the bed, falling asleep. 

\-----

Sansa shyly proposes her plans to Lady Joanna, who lets her make the changes she wishes to. 

“The future Lady of Casterly Rock should be able to command her own keep,” was all Joanna tells her when she looks puzzled at her lack of objection.

She wins over the household in less than a moon. Repairing and refurbishing the servants’ quarters takes a little over three weels, but it was worth it. The servants happily thank her whenever they pass by her in the hallways of the Rock.

She settles the year-long spat between the head cook and the captain of the guards with only a half-hour talk. Joanna does not know how she did it, but she is grateful either way. 

Sansa adjusts the accounts, cutting down the budget for ornaments and carpets. 

_This keep will survive with less of that, she thinks sarcastically._

She channels the funds instead into the wages of the women of the household, levelling out the difference. She gets more smiles in greeting from every maid and kitchen girl, making Genna Lannister wonder how such a daft girl became so beloved to them. 

Her husband notices the changes too. He sees her steps become more confident as she walks around the Rock, her direwolf beside her. He watches her sometimes from a distance, when his own duties do not call him away, talking to servants and always listening to their concerns. 

They spend time together, never breaching any personal subjects, but they do talk about their day’s work. Sansa becomes less rigid around him, more honest even. Her mask of courtesy begins to drop as she slowly learns that he would not hurt her for speaking her mind. 

He does not touch her. He never demands he take his rights. She was always taught that it was a woman’s duty to let her husband take his rights, so she may beget him an heir. She did not think a Lannister, much less the Kingslayer, would be this considerate, and she is grateful for that. But she wonders how long this will go on. Surely, Lord Tywin will start asking questions.

Jaime brings her to the Lannisport markets one day when they both have time for themselves, letting her buy fabrics, threads and jewels for dresses and whatever else she may want. He knows she loved and had a talent for sewing and embroidery. 

Sansa happily purchases materials for dresses for the warmer climate and dresses in Lannister colors. Most of what she has brought with her was made for winter. 

She spots the small family after buying some threads.

A woman is on the street, sitting down, begging for coins or a morsel of food. Beside her are her two daughters. 

Jaime notices them as well, dropping a silver dragon in her palm. The woman bursts into tears, profusely thanking him. 

Sansa’s heart breaks. She buys sticks of skewered meat from the merchant near them and hands one to each child. The older girl takes her hand and starts tugging her, asking her to follow. 

“Sansa!”

She looks back to see Jaime looking exasperated as he moves to follow them. She only shrugs back as she follows the child’s lead. They came alone, dressing inconspicuously to blend in, with no guards to ward off crowds.

The child leads her to an alley that has a door on the left. The child enters, leaving her outside. When she steps in and catches sight of the room, she feels tears flood her eyes.

Most of the occupants of the dilapidated shelter were mothers with young children. Some had newborns feeding at their breasts. They were crowded, roof leaking, floors dirty, with no plumbing or any chamberpot in sight. They pay her no mind, probably thinking she’s only lost her way. 

She sees the child hand the stick of skewered meat to another woman who scarfs down half. The child finishes the rest. 

She feels a hand wrap around her arm. 

“There you a-”

Jaime’s face turns sombre as he takes in the sight before him.

Sansa bends down to talk to one mother.

“What is your name?”

“Karyss, m’lady”

“Have all of you always lived here?” Sansa asks.

“No, girl,” the woman answers, hushing her fussing babe. "But ‘tis where lotsa whores end up if brothels decide to throw us out from havin’ a babe or just growin’ too old. Either 'ere or dead, really.”

“And - and did every woman here w-work in a brothel before?”

Karyss shakes her head. 

“Some girls here work in the inns. Serving girls ya’ see. Not paid enough. Some just don’t hav’a place.”

Sansa feels her husband’s hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“But we’re safer ‘ere than out in the streets. Men like whores in brothels. They can’t stand the smell ‘ere,” Karyss says smugly. 

Sansa slips some coin into her hand and stands. She feels her husband guide her back into the alley, and they make their way to the stables where they left Pride. 

Jaime packs her purchases into the saddlebags and helps her onto his horse. He climbs on behind her. She is quiet, letting him wrap his arms around her as he takes the reins, and they ride back to the Rock. 

“How many are there in the city?” Sansa asks.

He had supper brought to their room, seeing as his wife was quite preoccupied, and he did not need to give Aunt Genna more fuel to mock her for being empty-headed.

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’ve tried giving them money, but Father has always hated it if I did anything other than focus on the earning establishments.”

She nibbles her lip for a moment, a habit Jaime has come to associate with her building up the nerve to ask for something. 

“W-would you mind if I took charge of it?” she asks, her eyes so blue and hopeful.

“Not just - not just fixing the shelters,” she continues. "I want to help the women of the city. Like what stories tell of Good Queen Alysanne. They’re just so - neglected and - and unprotected and I just thought -”

She fidgets, trying to compose herself. Jaime smiles and takes her hand.

“You don’t need to ask. I will try to help you as best as I can.”

She gives a rare true smile. She looks even more beautiful when genuinely happy. 

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Sansa exclaims, kissing his cheek and giving him a short hug. It is the first time she has initiated any form of intimacy since their wedding six moons ago. He hugs her back, and kisses the top of her head. 

\-----

Sansa begins by roaming the city, looking for other shelters that needed help. She allocates even more funds from the decor of the castle towards fixing up these shelters. Part of her allowance also goes into the repairs. She assigns one inhabitant to head each shelter, passing on concerns and needs for food, clothing, or work. 

She takes her time listening to each one, recording and jotting down problems that need solutions. She passes on word that she will be holding her own court soon, and invites them to come.

Her husband has fixed up a small courtyard at the base of the castle. He has stationed the guards to be hidden, as to not scare the smallfolk. Here, Sansa holds her own Women’s Court, listening to the woes of women in poverty, finding them work and giving them a home. She hires kind and willing individuals to teach their children how to read and write and sew. 

_If they have a home and provisions, they can stand on their own and be stronger than ever._

She holds these courts once or twice in a moon, always sending out squires to deliver letters to shelters. Jaime helps her with the logistics, providing her with building materials and workers, horses and wagons, and other supplies they need. 

With Sansa’s work, Lannisport thrives. The people are happier and at peace. The City Watch reports much lower crime rates. Jaime’s work settling disputes and trades with the other houses and vassals have been going smoothly too. The Westerlands flourish. 

Joanna Lannister only watches them work, a smile on her face and a softness around her eyes. She does not interfere, glad of the respite she has now that she has slowly passed on the Lady’s duties to her new daughter-in-law. She only thanks the Seven for her luck - her husband has been named Master of Laws. He won’t be coming home to visit anytime soon. 

Then the Faith Militant attack the city.

\-----

Sansa is at one of the shelters that day, meeting with some women to discuss the training of healers. Ireyne is with her as is her guard, Ser Theodal Farrest. Her husband tried insisting she take more men with her with all the rumors of unrest within the Faith circulating the realm.

She refused as usual, leaving him frustrated. Her annoyance combined with the letter she only just received from her father-in-law, inquiring bluntly about heirs and her duty, has already put her in a mood that day. 

It is almost dusk when she finishes her meetings. They are at the stables when the screaming begins. 

“What is happening,” Ireyne gasps, looking around as smoke starts to rise from the horizon.

Ser Theodal hurries to mount his horse.

“I cannot see yet, my Lady, but we must hurry!”

They ride swiftly, trying to stay quiet and avoid the thickest crowds. But a group of men dressed in long brown robes armed with maces and halberds have cut off the path to the castle, setting up a guard. They are forced to hide out in one of the caves near the bottom of the Rock. 

She and Ireyne huddle together while her guard scouts the area, monitoring the situation. 

Ser Theodal comes back huffing. 

“The Lannister army is on the streets! They’re fighting back those bastards! Seems they’re likely to take back the city at the end of the night.”

Sansa laughs, as she holds Ireyne’s shaking form. They wait an hour longer before they sneak out. Sansa puts up the hood of her cloak to hide her hair. Seeing the path cleared, bodies of slain men on the ground, all three ride hard for the Rock. When they get to the Lion’s Mouth, soldiers are clamoring. Her handmaiden and her guard steer their horses to the sides to dismount. Sansa looks around for her husband. 

“She hasn’t been found, my Lord!” 

“The fires have been put out, Sire! The Faith Militant burned down two ships, but the rest have been salvaged!”

“Men are still searching for the High Sparrow as we speak! We will get back as quickly as we can!”

“Prisoners have been rounded up; they’ll be questioned as soon as possible!”

She sees Jaime talking to the captain of the City Watch, probably doubling efforts to search for her. His hair is disheveled, armor stained with blood, but he looks unharmed.

She pulls down her hood. With her hair kissed by fire, one of his men quickly spots her.

“Ser! Ser, she’s here! They’ve made it back!”

Jaime’s head snaps in the direction he points to. She watches him as he quickly walks over to her, still mounted on her horse. 

“I’m alright,” Sansa manages to say as he helps her down. She tries to stand steadily, but her legs are shaking. He catches her and lets her hold on to him. 

“Fuck,” Jaime mutters, his hands running over her ribs and arms, holding her face to the light to check for injuries.

She grasps his wrists.

“I’m unharmed. Ser Theodal saw to that,” Sansa says softly.

He sighs deeply, one of his hands still cupping her face as his thumb strokes her cheek. He lets her go.

“Supper is still laid out in the hall, and many of the men and household are still eating,” he tells her. "You must be hungry.”

Sansa only nods. He walks her to Ireyne. 

“Will you not be joining me?” Sansa asks.

“I need to talk to the captain first. We need to set up patrols and dispatch healers to keep order in the city. I’ll see you in our rooms.”

He walks back to his men, one hand tensing for a moment. She is left the company of her handmaiden for supper. They run into Lady Joanna near the dining hall.

“Sansa!” she gasps, drawing her into a hug. "I’m so glad you’re alright. All three of you.”

“I’m sorry to be the cause of such worry,” she says ruefully. "I never meant to -”

“No, don’t apologize for that,” Joanna replies, a hand on her cheek. "You’re safe, and that’s all that matters. Now off you go, supper is waiting.”

Sansa and Ireyne eat their fill before heading back to her rooms. Lady runs to her, nudging her and whimpering in relief as Sansa embraces her. After Ireyne runs her a bath, Sansa gives her some coin and dismisses her for the night. Soaking in the warm bath helps calm her down after the hectic evening. Her mind drifts to the shelters and the women. She’ll have to do her rounds as soon as she can to check on them. 

When she comes out of the bath in her shift, her husband is sitting on the recliner, waiting for her. He has cleaned himself up.

_Probably in the Lord’s chambers. Lord Tywin still is in King’s Landing, and no one’s using them._

“Where is Lady?” she asks, wondering where her direwolf had gone.

“She was whining at the door, so I let her out. Probably exploring for the night.”

He beckons her over. She follows and sits beside him on the chaise.

“Will you please take more men with you the next time?” he asks. 

Sansa hates being surrounded by so many Lannister guards. It also scares off the smallfolk. She does not answer him.

Jaime sighs. 

“Sansa, this was the Faith Militant. They would not have been a kind to you, had you been taken hostage.”

“We escaped, and Ser Theodal was more than capable of sneaking us out!”

“That’s not the point!”

Sansa sighs, standing up and making her way to their bed. 

“You fought today!” she exclaims. 

“I have trained for years _and_ still train in wielding a sword,” he says as he stands. "And I was once a Kingsguard, if you recall.”

“I- I was armed!” 

Jaime squints at her. 

“I’m telling the truth!” Sansa says, moving to her trunk to fish out her small knife and show it to him. 

“Where,” Jaime asks as he sees the blade, eyes widening as he inspects it. "Where did you get this?” 

“A friend back home gave it,” Sansa says quietly. "She said it was to protect myself from - from cruel men.”

Jaime looks at her before sheathing the knife and handing it back. Sansa moves to place it on her bedside table. 

“How were they able to amass such an army in secret?” she asks him. 

“Questioning the prisoners yielded little,” Jaime shrugs. "Although I’m certain Lord Tywin has slighted the Faith more than once with his demands. Likely they were children forced to grow up in that cult with promises to rule over the city once they take it.”

Sansa sighs.

“You could have died today or been taken hostage, you know that right?” he asks, walking to her, apparently not finished.

“Yes! But I didn’t. You fought to drive them back and lived. Can we please just let this go?” Sansa asks, turning to him. 

She realizes he is close. Closer than he usually is when they are together. He is staring at her. 

Her eyes slip down to his lips for a split-second before moving back to hold his gaze. His hand moves to cup the side of her face, thumb stroking her cheek. 

Jaime stares into her eyes. He does not kiss her, but Sansa can feel her heart beating out of her chest.

They are so close, they breathe the same air. 

Sansa closes the gap and kisses him gently. He responds. 

When they break apart, she still holds onto him. 

“Do you - tonight - do you want to-” she tries to ask, too timid to say the words out loud.

They have been married a little over a year and have only lain together once - their wedding night. He has never since initiated any couplings. 

_Gods, he hasn't even seen me naked, she thinks._

“Do you want me to?” he murmurs. 

Sansa does not want to let him go. She does not know how to say yes. Her septa always said it was sinful for a woman to be wanton. 

“I- your father is demanding an heir,” she says instead, tilting her face up to him, indicating that she wants more. 

Jaime scoffs at her answer, but he reads her intentions clearly. 

He kisses her this time, fiercer and more ardently. She groans as he licks into her mouth. Sansa feels him walk her back to the bed. He gently pushes her to sit on the edge, breaking their kiss. She feels his hands run up her thighs, untying and stripping off her smallclothes. She lifts her shift to help him. 

Jaime gently spreads her legs and kneels between them. Sansa blushes furiously. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her thigh and making her gasp. 

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation.

He draws his tongue up her thigh, kissing and licking higher and higher. She closes her eyes, head falling back at his gentle kisses. 

Sansa falls on her back and gasps in shock as he moves her legs over his shoulders and licks into her cunt. 

“Wh-what are you doing,” Sansa stammers.

Jaime looks at her, hands gently rubbing circles onto her hips and continues to lick.

He is unable to stop when his tongue gets the first taste of her - she was intoxicating. He pulls her hips towards him. She starts moaning loudly after a few long licks. This only urges him on. 

Her mind is whirling, drowning in a myriad of sensations. She feels his tongue licking long lines up her folds and slipping into her. Sansa’s moans get louder, and her mask of propriety completely falls off. Her hand is holding one of his, the other gripping his hair. When she looks at him, he holds her gaze as he continues licking at her folds and fucking her with his tongue, letting her grind against him. 

The sight of his blond head between her legs, savoring her cunt, pushes her over the edge.

“Oh Gods, oh, oh -” 

Sansa comes loudly, a beautiful wave crashing over her. 

Jaime does not stop. He lets her hand go, and she feels two fingers slip into her and start pumping in and out. His tongue starts flicking her nub rapidly, his fingers curling with every thrust. The onslaught of pleasure is so intense that her hips arch off the bed. She screams as her second peak crashes over. 

He continues thrusting his fingers, thumb circling her nub, building her up quickly. Sansa is moaning, her hips canting into his face. When he sucks on her nub, she feels white hot stabs of pleasure in her belly. The tension builds. Her vision blurs, and she cries out as she shatters a third time. 

Her husband does not relent. He only continues licking. Sansa starts pushing his head away.

“Oh, please stop, I can’t -”

He stops. She feels him kiss her inner thigh as he strokes her legs. 

Sansa is catching her breath. Jaime strokes her thighs. He crawls up her body, bracketing her with his arms.

“Wrap your arms and legs around me,” he tells her. 

Sansa complies as she feels him tighten his grip on her arse, a hand snaking around her back, and he lifts gently, moving her to the center of the bed. He settles beside her, wiping her wetness off his face with his sleeve before stripping his shirt off.

“Was- was that -” Sansa asks, blushing deeply. "I never thought -” 

“That a lord would lick his lady’s cunt?” Jaime asks, as he kisses a path down her neck to her chest. His hands are everywhere, and she cannot think straight.

“I could have feasted on you all night,” he says, voice deep and husky.

Courage and desire surges through her, and she sits up, unties her shift, and strips it over her head. She takes a deep breath before turning back to face her husband.

Jaime’s eyes rake over her naked figure, hunger in his gaze. He shucks off his breaches and drops them on the side of the bed.

She lets him pull her close and guide her to straddle him as she did on their wedding night. He draws her in for a kiss, and she moans, kissing him back with fervor. His hands are running over her bare skin, setting her whole body aflame. 

Her hands shyly run across his chest, feeling his muscles twitch under her gentle touches. Her husband was beautiful. She leans forward kissing a line up his neck. He sighs in pleasure. 

She can feel his cock against her lower belly. 

“Can I touch it?” Sansa asks. 

He nods, guiding her hand down. He groans at her first touch, and she becomes bolder, palming his cock, following his lead to stroke the tip. 

Jaime takes his time, raining kisses on down her neck and shoulders. His mouth moves lower to her breasts, licking and sucking on one as his hand gently massages the other, pinching her nipple. Sansa sighs at his ministrations, her hands combing through his hair.

She feels him move and follows him to lie down. She spreads her legs and lets him cover her. She kisses him once more, feeling completely safe caged under his frame.

Jaime rubs his tip against her folds. She whimpers, her hips rolling, seeking more friction. 

He pushes into her gently, letting her get used to the stretch. It does not hurt as much as the first time, but he is patient. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he hisses, as her legs wrap around his him. 

Sansa rolls her hips, making him groan. He starts thrusting at a slow pace. The pinching sensation has vanished, replaced by a delicious burn that is building up a flame inside her. 

“Jaime,” Sansa whimpers.

She feels his hand stroke down her leg and hitch it higher on his hips, helping her meet his thrusts, before moving between them to rub her nub.

Sansa moans loudly. The feel of him inside her is suddenly more intense. Her legs push him deeper into her with every thrust, and her back arches as sharp stabs of pleasure course through her. He speeds up his thrusts, circling her nub faster, and she comes with a cry, clenching around him. His thrusting grows more erratic, fucking her through her peak, and he moans as he comes only moments later. 

They are panting, trying to catch their breath. Jaime releases her hip and looks at her as he strokes her face. Sansa tilts her head, and he laughs softly, giving in to her request as he kisses her. 

After she cleans up in the bath, Sansa slips on a shift, takes a deep breath before going back out. 

Jaime is sitting back against the headboard. She smiles as he lifts the covers so she can crawl in beside him. He blows out the candles. Sansa giggles as he pulls her to him, wrapping an arm around her waist. She tucks her head into his shoulder, her arm on his chest, and inhales deeply. 

His scent and his warmth make her drowsy. 

“Rest,” he whispers. "You’ve had a long day.”

He strokes her hair gently, lulling her to sleep. 

\-----

The attack on Lannisport was the first offense of the Faith Militant, and Tywin Lannister makes sure it was the last. He orders his son and his brother, Kevan, to search the sept and weed out every single member. Men who put up a fight were killed. Men who yielded were sent to the Night’s Watch. 

Jaime oversees the rebuilding of the city, subsidizing the people for what they lost during the raid. It takes a few moons as the damage they wrought with fire was quite extensive. His wife is beside him, helping where she can.

Sansa visits every shelter she oversees, ensuring they had supplies and reinforcing the houses. She roams the city with her husband, appeasing the people. They hold court with Lady Joanna to hear the smallfolk’s concerns and needs. 

Sansa and Jaime grow closer. The bond and friendship forged over the past year of marriage still stands, only now there is a physical intimacy to it. It slots into their life gradually. Sansa blossoms slowly, but she has an awakening of her own in the moons that follow. 

They talk more about their past, whispering their secrets in bed. He learns of her life in Winterfell and of a childhood she lost to the Rebellion. She learns of his childhood before Aerys raised him to Kingsguard and of how he nearly lost his mother when she miscarried her third child. 

He still does not tell her about the Kingsguard or his reasons for killing the Mad King. She does not prod, and for that, he is grateful. 

They enjoy a few moons where they are kept busy with rebuilding and watching over the Faith for any more signs of brewing turmoil.

But then a raven from the capital arrives - an invite to a tourney to celebrate Prince Aegon’s tenth nameday. 

\-----

Lord Tywin has ordered at least one of them to come. Lady Joanna is to stay behind, but she will be needing help to run the keep as the rest of the Lannister siblings are on their way. 

Jaime knows his wife would ask to go. Ned Stark and some of her siblings are going to the tourney after all, and it will be her first chance to see them since she left Winterfell. 

He helps her pack, simply to spend more time with her. 

He is in the bath, letting the heat soak away the soreness of his muscles from training. He hears her come through the door of the bath. 

“Oh!” Sansa exclaims, blushing as she steps back. "I’m sorry, I thought -”

Jaime smiles. They have been sleeping together for moons now, and she still gets flustered at the sight of him naked.

“I- I’ll just wait- un-until you finish,” Sansa says slowly, backing away.

“You can join me, you know,” he smirks at her. 

Sansa flushes deeper. She fidgets for a moment. Then her back straightens and she walks towards the tub, untying the laces of her dress.

She glances at her husband as he watches her strip. He never takes his eyes off her, and she feels the heat of his gaze travel straight to her core. Once she is naked, he holds out his hand and helps her climb into the tub and sit between his legs. 

Sansa sighs as he kneads her shoulders and massages her back. She makes for King’s Landing tomorrow morning. Excited as she is to see her siblings again, she is loath to leave her husband’s company. 

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmurs, drawing her to settle against his chest. His arms wrap around her middle. He presses a kiss to her neck. 

"How easy do you think it will be to avoid the King in the Red Keep?” Sansa asks, leaning into him. 

Jaime sighs, pressing his forehead against her neck. 

“The King will probably be with Prince Aegon most of the time. Or busy with small council meetings and courts,” he says.

“Stay close to your family, and keep your shield with you at all times, will you?” he adds. He knows how much Sansa loves her freedom. 

She smiles at his concern. His hands have started roaming, massaging her breasts and strumming her nipples. Sansa bites her lip, hiding her smile. One dips lower and she lets her legs spread wider.

“Oh,” she moans, when Jaime’s hand starts stroking her cunt, circling her nub. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, and he peppers her neck and shoulder with kisses. 

She is close when he stops suddenly, and a whine escapes her. Her nub is throbbing, and she needs more. 

“Oh, please-”

Her husband’s grin is mischievous. 

“Best get you cleaned up first.”

She flicks some bathwater to his face, and they both burst out laughing before getting on with their bath.

Sansa finds herself begging him once more in the same hour. She is on all fours, her husband behind her thrusting slowly. Sansa is bucking her hips, desperate for more friction.

"Jaime, p-please-I," Sansa whimpers. She feels him much more deeply in this position, his cock hitting a spot within her that makes her writhe and lose all coherent thought.

Jaime smirks behind her, speeding up his thrusts while his hand reaches around to circle her nub. 

Sansa rocks her hips to meet his, feeling the flames grow inside her. It is stronger this time, and her cries grow louder as she reaches her peak. She screams when her orgasm hits her. Jaime groans as she clenches around him, following her over the edge. 

They stay still, catching their breath. Sansa feels him press kisses up her spine before he pulls out of her. She whimpers and lays down, limp from pleasure. Jaime rises to grab a drink. Her eyes are on his arse as he walks around the room.

_Gods, he looks delicious._

Later that night, they are lying in bed, naked, legs tangled together. Sansa is sated and sleepy.

“Will you assure his majesty, Tywin Lannister, that we have been trying for an heir?” Jaime asks her.

She laughs softly at that. Her father-in-law has been sending letters twice a moon. Her husband has only ever given him vague replies, infuriating him to no end. 

“Any message for your sister?” she asks. She will be glad to see Lady Cersei again, and thank her for her kindness during her wedding night.

“I commissioned a necklace for her,” Jaime says. "Tell her it’s a nameday gift from the both of us.”

“Mhmm,” Sansa mutters. 

She feels a kiss on her head. Covers are drawn over her shoulder and sleep claims her. 

Jaime sees her off the next morning along with her direwolf who she has to leave behind. She brings no wheelhouse, being a proficient rider herself.

“The tourney should not take more than two weeks,” Sansa says. "I’ll be back before you know it.”

Lady whines, nudging her mistress. Sansa fondly strokes her fur. 

“Enjoy spending the time with your family, Sansa,” he says. "If you like, we could visit the North once all the repairs have been sorted out.”

Sansa smiles brightly at that. 

Jaime cups her cheek and kisses her chastely. They do have company after all. 

“Be safe, my Lady,” he whispers to her.

“And you, my Lord,” she answers. 

He helps her mount her horse. Once she is seated, he grasps her hand and kisses her palm.

Stepping back, he watches her company ride off. He and Lady walk back to the castle to start the day’s work.

V. Maelstrom

The smell of the city is something Sansa will never get used to. She misses the cold earthy wind in the North. She misses the scent of the sea, order and cleanliness of Lannisport. She misses the familiar household of the Rock.

She misses him. 

She realizes this the first night she spends in the Red Keep. It keeps her up until dawn, making Arya wonder why she was tired throughout the day. 

She notices she begins to get tired more easily, taking frequent naps to rest. She thinks the weariness from the journey here might be catching up to her.

Seeing her father, Arya, and Bran again lifts her spirits. She misses them both terribly. They can only tell each other so much through ravens, and there is much to catch up on. They trade stories of how life has been for the past year. 

Lady Catelyn, Robb, and Rickon stayed behind, with Robb stepping into the role of Lord of Winterfell. Her father has betrothed him to a bannerman’s daughter, wanting to strengthen ties. Arya says they looked smitten with each other, and Sansa smiles, happy for her brother. 

She dines with Lady Cersei, presenting her with the necklace her husband commissioned. She enjoys her company. Cersei has sharp wits about her and a mischievous sense of humor, much like her brother. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Sansa says, as their meal comes to an end. "For- for what you did that night.”

Cersei tilts her head, smiling at her. 

“You seem happier,” she remarks. 

Sansa flushes, and Cersei laughs. 

“Oh, little wolf, I wish we had more time to get to know each other,” she says. 

“It has been a wonderful evening,” Sansa says. "I hope you can visit the Rock sometime as well.”

“When this thing ends, I’ll drag Stannis there myself.”

She greets her father-in-law when they meet in the halls. He is always busy as Master of Laws, presiding over small council meetings and meetings with the City Watch. He is blunt, asking her about their plans for children, and she gently assures him that they have been trying. 

People think she does not notice, but Sansa feels the eyes of many highborn turn to her as she walks around the keep or the gardens. She hears snippets of whispered gossip about her.

_“...never knew she was a beauty…the Kingslayer...deserves the worst”_

_“Terrible fate for her...marrying him...”_

_“...came alone, you see? ...she’s ashamed of him...”_

Sansa pays them all no mind. She knows the man behind the infamous name. She may not know his reasons for killing his king, but she has come to learn that he has more honor than the peacocking lot of social climbers in court. 

She gets cornered by the Master of Coin one day while she was watching her siblings play in the gardens.

“Lady Lannister,” a man calls.

Sansa stands, saying. "I apologize, Ser, for I do not know who you are.”

“Petyr Baelish,” he says, bowing with a flourish. "Master of Coin and a dear friend of Lady Catelyn.”

Sansa curtsies and faces him with a mask of courtesy.

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Baelish, I shall send your regards back to my mother.”

“Curious you came here without your husband,” Baelish says. 

Sansa smiles serenely, answering, "Lady Joanna needed help running the Rock and keeping order in the city. I’m sure news of the attack of the Faith Militant was relayed to the Crown.”

“Ah, yes, a devoted son,” Baelish says, a hint of mockery in his voice. He takes one of her hands in his.

His touch makes Sansa shudder inwardly in disgust. There is something strange about him. Something she can't quite put her finger on. Friend of her mother’s he may be, but Sansa has learned from a young age not to trust so easily.

 _You learn things about men, growing up in times of war. They are knightly and full of chivalry when wooing a lady, but they will cast you aside or use you as a pawn in their games in a heartbeat._

“My Lady, my duties call me away, but should you ever have need of anything, please let me know,” he says, pressing a kiss to her fingers. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Sansa replies. 

Now that she is aware of him, she does her best to avoid him as well. She does not see the King until the actual tourney, but Baelish somehow finds ways to see her however briefly. Sansa hates it, knowing he probably had eyes and ears around the keep to keep track of her. She never lets him catch her alone, always keeping Arya, Bran, or her father by her side as company. 

She knows it grates on him. She can feel the edge in his voice. 

The tourney begins, and Sansa feels lighter.

_The sooner this ends, the sooner I can go home._

She watches the King and his family where they stay seated in the Royal Box. Rhaegar does not compete, but his brother does. She watches Queen Elia tend to her children. Anyone can see that she is a doting mother, and Rhaegar, a distant father. The coldness between the King and Queen is palpable to the crowds. 

Sansa cannot find it in her to be invested in the competition. Everything in the capital seems so frivolous and trivial, false niceties everywhere. The fact that Baelish sits close to them, engaging her in conversation every time Ned Stark slipped away for a moment dampens her mood even more. Her only joy was watching her siblings scream and cheer in excitement as the jousting and melee went on. 

At the end of the day, Prince Viserys is hailed the champion. He crowns his betrothed, Lady Arianne Martell, with the wreath of flowers.

Sansa swears she hears sighs of relief around the crowd. 

The feast that follows is grand. Prince Aegon cuts his cake, and everyone cheers. Princess Rhaenys opens the floor with a dance with her brother, and the merriment begins. Sansa enjoys the feast with her siblings, watching their eyes wide with amazement and delight at the music, the dancing, and the heaps of artfully plated desserts they probably never see in the North. She dances with them, giggling like children while they sway and twirl around the room. 

Ned Stark watches them from a distance, a smile on his face. 

It was getting late, and guests had begun leaving or passing out drunk. Aegon and Rhaenys have already gone to bed, as have Arya and Bran.

Sansa had planned on retiring too, but she decided to spend more time with Lady Cersei, talking about life in the Stormlands and her father, who she never seemed to be close to.

“He loves Mother,” Cersei says. "His one redeeming quality mayhaps. I was just a broodmare, another pawn he could use to secure alliances to great houses. ”

Cersei takes a sip of wine, offering Sansa some. Sansa refuses politely. She never acquired the taste for it.

“I was a woman,” Cersei continues, voice tired. "To him, that was all I was good for.”

“It was good you had Lady Joanna then,” Sansa says.

“Thank the Gods for Mother and Jaime. She taught me that women matter just as much - that we can rule and rule well. Jaime stood up for me when all Father did was favor him. I think that made him less of a perfect golden son in Father’s eyes,” Cersei replies. 

A scream cuts through the air, and the music stops.

Both of them hastily try to see what is going on.

Tywin Lannister lies choking on the ground, his fallen goblet near him. Blood is trickling from his mouth. Not a minute later, his choking stops altogether, and he lies still, no longer breathing. Ned Stark is standing near him in shock. 

Sansa clutches Cersei’s arm, looking at her. Cersei looks shaken at the ghastly site, but she stands tall.

Rhaegar’s voice issues an order.

“Arrest Lord Stark and take him to the dungeons.” 

Sansa lunges to protest, but guards hold her back. Ned looks at her, silently pleading her to keep calm.

“Your Grace, my father would never!” she pleads. 

Rhaegar looks at her calmly and says. "He was the one who handed him the goblet. The Hand of the King saw it himself.”

The celebration abruptly stops. Cersei is escorted by her handmaiden to her rooms to deal with the shock of her father’s sudden assassination. The King orders his guards to walk Sansa back to hers and keep guard outside, lest she tries to plan her father’s escape. 

Fear and terror fill her heart. She is stuck in her room, unable to send letters or receive any visitors. Her meals are delivered to her, but no one speaks to her or tells her what has been going on. No news is allowed to reach her. She wants to scream in frustration.

_Please, she prays silently, keep Arya and Bran safe._

She receives the most unexpected visitor on the third night. 

It is close to midnight when she hears the servant’s passage door open. Sansa curls up in fear, holding the knife close to her chest as a hooded figure makes her way to her.

“I know you’re awake,” a woman’s voice whispers. "Don’t scream."

Sansa turns to see the Queen Elia’s face under the hood. She is holding a folded bundle of clothes.

“My Queen,” she gasps softly sitting up. "I don’t understand - “

“Hush, sweetling,” Elia says, urging her up to take her nightgown off. "We don’t have much time. Get dressed, quickly.”

Sansa puts on the clothes she brought. She could pass off as one of the smallfolk in these, her hood hiding her hair.

She slips her knife up her sleeve.

“Follow me.”

They run through the servant’s tunnels, taking many turns as they go. Sansa thinks her heart might burst. Elia tells her what has happened. She also tells Sansa of the greater truth she has discovered.

Tywin Lannister was assassinated with a poison called the strangler. Ned Stark held the goblet last, and is now being accused of murder. He is to stand trial as soon as a new Master of Laws has been appointed. The King has been holding Ned Stark’s children as hostage, to keep Robb Stark in line. 

But Elia’s spies happened to spot Baelish pouring out the wine. They saw his ring open, a sprinkle of powder falling into one goblet. He only handed that goblet to Ned to give to Tywin. 

They tried to stop him, but Lord Tywin had already taken a sip when one her spies reached him to _accidentally_ knock over his goblet.

“I’ve had dedicated spies trained on him for moons. I never trusted the man. Seems like my instincts were right.”

Sansa’s heart drops. Words are like the wind. They will not serve as tangible proof in court. And Petyr Baelish is a powerful man. 

“He has been trying to get a moment alone with me since I came here,” Sansa whispers. "His gaze lingers, as do his little touches. It's revolting." 

Elia nods knowingly. 

“He says he is a friend of my mother, but why?” Sansa asks, voice shaking with anger.

“The same reason all men do terrible things. Even start wars,” Elia says. "He wanted your mother, but he now has set his sights on you. He thought he might play the hero for you and have you for himself, now that your father has been imprisoned." 

They exit into a small clearing near a forest, and Sansa sees some men on horses waiting in the dark. A horse without a rider stands among them.

“Hurry,” Elia says, leading her to them.

“My - my sister and my brother,” Sansa whispers, tears streaming down her face. "I cannot leave them, please-”

“Worry not, my Lady,” Elia says, grasping her forearms. "They have been smuggled out earlier this evening to a ship that is sailing for White Harbor as we speak.” 

Sansa falls on her knees, a stifled sob escaping her. The Queen hauls her up, urging her to her horse. One of the men helps her mount.

“Your Grace, I - I am in your debt for life,” Sansa whispers, holding her hand.

Queen Elia smiles sadly at her.

“Innocent children and women should never have to face the consequences of a man’s actions. You and I both know that well enough.”

Sansa sniffs, trying to stop her tears.

“These men are paid to protect you, Lady Sansa,” Elia says. "You are to ride hard for Casterly Rock. They have enough coin with them to purchase and change mounts on the way.” 

Sansa nods, steeling herself. 

_I am the blood of Winterfell. I can be brave._

“Deliver her to no one but Jaime Lannister,” Elia orders the men. They nod solemnly. 

“Quickly now,” she says in farewell. 

Sansa rides for her life. They never stop for the night, only for short meals or to change horses. They stay off the main road, catching only an hour of two of sleep at a time before riding again.

The men are true to their word, escorting her home as quickly as possible.

They make it to the Rock in nine days.

\-----

The raven that arrives at dusk bears a letter from Cersei. It breaks the calm and shocks the household of the Rock.

Joanna mourns, and Jaime lets his mother cry into his shoulder. He had no great love for his father, but he knows the love his parents had for each other. 

“What motive does Lord Stark have to kill a member of the _small council_ ?” Jaime asks in disbelief. "I _know_ he isn’t that daft.”

His mother shakes her head.

“I don’t know, Jaime, but I can’t believe it either,” she tells him. "Ned Stark is much too honorable for an assassination like this.”

The rest of the news fills him with worry and anger. His sister writes that the Crown has allowed her to travel back to the Stormlands after she dramatically tells them that the trial might be too much for her to witness. Lord Stark is the only one who stands accused and is likely to be executed after his trial. The King is holding his children in King’s Landing, barring their return home. 

“He is afraid,” Joanna tells him. "To have the North revolt and plunge the Seven Kingdoms into war again.”

 _Sansa._

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” he says, pacing the room. 

“You must not go to King’s Landing,” his mother says. 

Jaime looks at her incredulously. 

“My _wife_ is there, under the claws of that -”

“I know,” she says. "And Sansa is strong and wise enough to face all of them. We cannot have them thinking that we are planning an attack.”

Jaime raises his brow.

“Have the bannermen prepare, but quietly,” Joanna tells her. "We must be ready to march, but we cannot draw the eyes of the Crown.”

“We should be in mourning,” Jaime says. "I’ll have them bring out the black banners and the bells rung tomorrow.” 

Joanna nods in approval.

“Now you’re thinking straight.”

“Food supplies should also be checked. We’ll go over the accounts,” he continues. "We might have to prepare for a siege.”

Jaime sighs. His mother grasps his hand gently. 

“I cannot stop worrying,” he admits softly. 

Joanna embraces her son as he shakes. 

\-----

They start stocking food in the castle and in the city. Jaime also pays the blacksmiths to double their production of swords and bows. 

The next four days pass in a blur. He and his mother keep themselves busy with preparations for an imminent war. 

Jaime does not sleep well at night, thoughts of Sansa in that snake pit plaguing him.

On the fifth night, his squire bursts into his mother’s solar where they are having supper.

“My L-Lord,” he pants. "My L-Ladyship, r-riders in the n-night.”

“Catch your breath,” Jaime tells him. "What do they need?”

“To s-speak with you, Ser,” his squire says. "Says they’ve got o-orders to deliver a p-package only to L-Lord Jaime Lannister.”

He looks at his mother, and she looks just as puzzled as he is. They make their way to the Lion’s Mouth. 

He spots the group of hooded riders, waiting. Their leader approaches him.

“Lord Jaime Lannister?” the man asks. 

Jaime nods, asking, "Who are you?”

“Byren Darke, Ser.”

“My squire said you had something to deliver?”

“If you’re certain this is him,” he turns back to speak to one of his men. "Give him the package.”

One of the men drops their hood.

He hears his mother and the guards gasp. His heart leaps, and he can feel his feet carrying him to her. 

“Sansa!”

She looks pale and tired, dark circles under her eyes. She puts her hands on his shoulders and lets him lift her off her horse. 

He feels her wrap her arms around his waist as she buries her face in his chest, and he embraces her tightly. 

“Good Sers,” Joanna starts. "We- we don’t know how to thank you.” 

Byren, holding the reins to Sansa’s horse, bows his head in return. 

“We follow only the Queen’s orders, your Ladyship,” he answers. 

Joanna looks confused for a moment, but she holds her tongue.

“Please, rooms will be prepared for you and a hot bath and a hot meal will be waiting,” Jaime says. "It’s the least we could do.”

“Thank you, Ser, that would be much appreciated.” 

“Thank you,” Sansa says. "For seeing me safely home.”

The men nod to her before they are led to their quarters. Boys start leading their horses to the stables for the night.

“Come, sweetling,” Joanna tells Sansa, as Jaime leads her over. "You must be tired.”

Joanna loops her arm through Sansa’s, and they start walking back to Jaime’s chambers. 

“My Lady, Ser Jaime!” an agitated voice calls to them. 

“What is it?” Joanna asks, stopping.

Byren walks towards them and shows his hand and arm with stains of fresh blood. His eyes are filled with worry. 

“I was fixing the saddlebags of Lady Sansa’s horse,” he says, eyes looking at Sansa. "When I noticed there was fresh blood on her saddle.” 

“Sansa, what-”

Jaime does not finish his question. Sansa’s knees buckle suddenly, and he catches her. 

He hears his mother shouting orders to send for the maester. 

“Thank you, Ser Darke,” Joanna hurriedly says. "We can take care of her.”

Sansa is in Jaime’s arms, and Joanna guides them to their room quickly. 

She whimpers in pain as he sets her on their bed. Her direwolf stands vigilant at her bedside.

“What happened?” Jaime asks worriedly, stripping off her boots. "Sansa, where does it hurt?”

Sansa goans suddenly, curling up. 

“My belly,” she whispers. 

Jaime rubs her back gently. He starts unlacing her dress, helping her shrug out of it. When he pulls her dress down, his heart nearly stops at the sight of the blood staining the shift between her legs. 

His mother comes in with the maester. 

“She says her belly hurts,” Jaime tells the man. 

The maester takes a moment to examine Sansa, but Joanna has slipped out of the room already, carrying out orders to servants, knowing exactly what her daughter-in-law was going through.

“When was your last moonblood, Lady Sansa?” he asks.

“T-two moons ago, I think,” Sansa whispers, realization dawning on her face. A wave of pain hits her again, making her cry out softly.

Jaime moves to stay beside her. Sansa reaches for him, and he lets her head rest on his lap, his hand stroking her brow.

Maester Warrin is checking the bloodstains on the dress she wore. He then lifts her shift to do the same.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Maester Warrin says. "She has lost the babe. But I must stop the bleeding quickly.”

“Do what you must,” Jaime says. 

Sansa has begun crying softly and he does his best to soothe her. The maester prepares a concoction from his supplies. He gives it to Jaime and tells him she must finish it.

Jaime supports Sansa’s head and slowly pours the potion down her throat. She is weak, but compliant. 

The maester begins massaging her lower abdomen, one hand between Sansa’s legs, clearing out clotted blood and making sure all contents of the afterbirth are expelled.

Sansa tries to stifle her cries, but whimpers of pain escape her. 

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” the maester says. "This will help prevent an infection. It’s almost over, just a bit more.”

Joanna returns with servants carrying fresh linens and basins of hot water. They cut off Sansa’s shift, and Ireyne covers her with a fresh sheet. The soiled shift and linens filled with blood and the lost child are rolled up and taken away. 

Sansa is cleaned up, her bleeding successfully stopped, to Jaime’s relief. 

“Here,” his mother says, offering a warm cup of sweetened milk. "She will need her strength.”

Jaime helps Sansa sit, letting her lean against his chest as Joanna helps her drink. He tucks her in after, the journey’s weariness finally putting her to sleep. Lady settles on the rug near the foot of their bed, keeping watch over her. 

“She didn’t know,” her son says quietly as he strokes his wife’s hair. "We both didn’t.”

Joanna, sitting on the bedside, only nods sadly.

“She was riding hard for days without rest, running from the Crown. Not to mention the thoughts of her father imprisoned back in King’s Landing. That burden is too much to bear this early in a pregnancy,” she tells her son.

Jaime sighs deeply.

“She is home and safe. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes,” Joanna answers. "But she may feel guilt.”

Her son looks befuddled.

“She’s just lost a child, Jaime,” she tells him softly. "We know that this was no fault of hers. But she will need to hear it all the same.”

\-----

The raven from King’s Landing arrives at dawn, with news of Ned Stark’s execution. Joanna and her son look at each other, wondering how to break the news to Sansa. The only silver lining to the letter is no word is mentioned of her escape. Mayhaps the King is keeping it a secret to fool Robb Stark and keep him in line.

Sansa wakes to dim light. The pain is gone, but her body is exhausted. She looks around her, gathering her bearings. The drapes are partly drawn around the bed. There still is light outside, making her wonder how long she has been asleep. 

She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. Seeing some linens on a chair near the bed, she rises and wraps one around her. Lady immediately comes to her side, letting her hold on. She follows her mistress as she quietly pads to the solar. Her husband sits at the desk, writing on a parchment. A small stack of letters are on one corner, waiting to be sealed. 

He looks up when he hears her, stopping his tasks.

“How are you feeling?” Jaime asks, worry filling his eyes, as he approaches.

“Tired, mostly,” she sighs, sinking into her husband’s embrace.

“How long was I asleep?” 

“It’s just past noon,” Jaime answers. 

Sansa relishes the feel of her husband’s hold. She has missed him terribly. She feels him heave a sigh. 

“Sansa, a raven came from King’s Landing this morning.”

She already knows. In her heart, she has known the moment Elia told her the truth. 

“Ned Stark has been found guilty of the murder of the Master of Laws and was executed.”

Hearing the truth does not make things easier. She does not realize she is crying until her husband steers them to sit on the upholstery, cradling her on his lap and letting her sob into his chest. 

“I knew,” Sansa mutters, when she has calmed down. "I knew there was no saving him when I left. Not with the truth I learned.”

There is a knock on the door, and he bids them to enter. Ireyne comes in bringing a tray of food. 

“My Lady, you’re awake!” her handmaiden says with a relieved smile. "I’ll run you a bath; the maester said it was alright, and a hot soak ought to do you some good.” 

Sansa smiles gratefully, thanking her handmaiden as Jaime guides her to sit at the table and eat. Her appetite surprises her. She finishes a bowl of hearty vegetable stew and half a loaf of warm bread. 

Ireyne comes out of their room as she finishes her last bite of food. 

“Ah, my Lady, it’s good to see you eating well so soon!” her handmaiden exclaims. "Maester Warrin says it will help you get better quick.”

“Thank you, Ireyne,” Sansa says warmly. 

“I’ll bring up some tea then,” she replies. "D’you need help with your bath, my Lady?”

Sansa shakes her head, saying, "I think I can manage.”

Her handmaiden nods at that, collecting the nearly empty tray. 

“Come on,” her husband says, offering her a hand. When they reach the bath, Sansa unravels the sheet around her, and Jaime folds it and puts it away. 

She sinks into the hot bath, letting her weariness seep away little by little. Jaime returns and sits at the head of the tub. He rolls up his sleeves. 

“Dip your head,” he tells her. 

Sansa complies, wetting her hair. She rises and leans back, letting Jaime lather and wash her hair. There is just something so intimate about the gesture, it brings tears to her eyes.

When he finishes, she soaps herself down, feeling her husband do the same to her back. She soaks in the warmth of the bath until the water starts cooling. 

Feeling much better, Sansa returns to their room and sits on the chaise. Lady is reclining by the fire. 

Her husband sits down beside her, letting her lean into him. She cuddles into his side, but her treacherous mind is not done plaguing her for the day. Her thoughts drift to what happened last night. 

_Everything was a blur. The swift hard ride to the Rock. No rest. A shadow hanging overhead, always looming with the threat of being found and captured. The pain. The blood. It all happened so - so suddenly -_

She does not know what Jaime thinks of the whole thing. Or the Lady Joanna. Her duty after all is to provide House Lannister with an heir. Sansa takes a deep breath, willing her mind to slow down.

“I didn't know,” Sansa starts softly. "About the baby. I swear - I'm so sorry -”

Jaime cuts her off. His voice is quiet and tender. 

“You have no fault here. You saw your father imprisoned, and you were almost held hostage at King’s Landing.”

Sansa looks at him as tears begin streaming down her face. Jaime wipes them away. 

“I could have -”

“Sansa,” Jaime tells her gently. "In the past few moons, we had the Faith Militant to deal with. You had to flee for your life in the last week with barely any rest. A babe was the last thing on your mind.”

Sansa throws her arms around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder.

Jaime holds her as she cries. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says, feeling her cry harder. "Know that you will never be to blame for what happened.”

He lets her cry until her tears run dry. 

“I've missed you,” she says softly. He kisses her gently before rising to prepare her a cup of tea and comes back with a small plate of lemon cakes to her delight.

“Something to lighten your spirit at least,” Jaime says as she eats her fill with a smile.

“How did you escape?” Jaime asks. 

“Would you believe me if I told you it was the Queen?” 

“Elia?” Jaime asks, bewildered. 

“She knows it wasn’t Father,” Sansa says, taking a sip and letting the tea warm her stomach. 

“Her spies saw the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, slip the poison in. They were too late to stop things as Lord Tywin had already taken a sip. Jon Connington’s word was what Rhaegar took to heart, and he saw my father hold the goblet last.”

“And words of strangers or smallfolk would never have held up in court,” Jaime sighs, taking her hand. "Sansa, I am so sorry.”

“She managed to help Arya and Bran escape too. I’m just glad my siblings are safe,” Sansa says tearfully. 

“We’ll need to write to them,” Sansa sniffs, pulling herself together. "News of Father’s execution should reach him in a few days. I must tell Robb the truth, or he will wage war against the Lannisters.” 

VI. The Northern Revolt

The raven is sent before supper, bearing a letter with a cryptic message, begging Robb Stark to stand down and wait. It is written in Sansa’s hand, and she hopes her brother will heed her words. They send a lone rider that very night to make haste for Winterfell, bringing another letter - one that holds the crucial truth. 

Robb does not heed his sister’s advice, wanting to march the very next day but his mother overrules him. She still is the Lady of Winterfell, and her word is law. Catelyn writes back to Sansa, promising to wait. 

It takes a little less than three weeks of swift riding for the truth to reach the Starks. When Catelyn learns of Baelish’s machinations, she decides to take it to the Crown, and demand his head. If not, the North will march against the Crown for justice to be served. And Sansa promises that they will be backed by the West. 

Arya and Bran are brought home safely by the men Queen Elia hired. They are ordered to stay home, while Robb and Lady Stark lead the army south. But both houses agree to the ruse of still looking for the supposed hostages. 

Catelyn knows these men. She knows she will be denied. She has ordered her son to round up the bannermen more than a week before sending her terms to the Crown. The North is swift in its preparations, and they march three days after the letter is sent, in a rush to get to Riverrun before the Crown can cut them off at the Neck. 

The letter is sent, with Catelyn demanding that Petyr Baelish be turned over to the North to face justice and that her children be returned to her. The small council laughs at Catelyn’s terms. 

“Let them march,” Rhaegar says lazily. "We’ll meet them in battle at the Trident.”

“I shall round up the banners, your Grace,” his Hand says reverently.

“Any word on the Lannisters?” 

“My spies tell me that the Lannisters are in mourning, my King, and that no banners have been called,” Baelish says.

“I want to fight.”

Prince Viserys has spoken up. Rhaegar looks at his brother.

“It’s past time I see a battle,” he goes on, looking vicious. "I want to see that frozen wasteland razed to the ground.”

“The search for the Stark children have yielded nothing yet, Sire,” Jon Connington says. "But a letter from the Lannisters arrived this morning, inquiring about Lady Sansa’s wellbeing, asking when will she be allowed to come home.”

Rhaegar smiles.

“Send our terms to Lady Stark,” he orders. "Have our armies be ready to march in two weeks.”

The Crown denies Catelyn justice she seeks as she expected. No matter. The Northern army is already past the Twins. 

\-----

The army of the North are camped at Riverrun, biding their time. House Lannister’s bannermen have trickled down discreetly to join them one by one. Scouts have told them that the King and his armies are a mere week away from Harrenhal.

Jaime is donning his armor. He will be riding out tonight, under the cover of darkness with the last retinue of knights. His wife is waiting in the solar. 

She walks with him to the Lion’s Mouth. The men are packing the last of their supplies.

Sansa’s soft hand takes his in hers, clutching him tightly, 

“Be careful.”

Jaime kisses her, and she embraces him for as long as she can. 

“Come home,” she whispers. “Come home to me.” 

“I swear it.”

And he is off to war again.

\-----

Elia prays while her husband is at war.

_Let the North prevail. Let them exact justice. For Ned Stark. For Lyanna Stark._

She moves quietly on her own, doubling her spies on the Master of Coin. His every move within the city is silently tracked. Her loyal men are ready to arrest him at any moment.

\-----

Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark treat with the King, his Hand, and Prince Viserys the night before the battle.

“I offer you mercy, should you lay down your arms tonight,” the King says.

“My father was falsely accused of murder,” Robb answers back. “As long as Petyr Baelish lives, the North will fight for justice to be served.”

“This is your last chance, Young Wolf,” the Prince sneers.

“Then we will meet you in battle tomorrow, Your Grace,” Catelyn answers, pure steel in her voice. 

The battle is brutal, the North is brave, but they are outnumbered. Rhaegar and Viserys, surrounded by the Kingsguard, smile, almost tasting victory.

A loud horn blasts in the distance. 

“No,” Viserys hisses. “That can’t be!”

And the force of the West charges. 

Archers take out the Kingsguard from a distance. Jaime knows these men are not the knights the songs speak of.

Robb Stark slays Viserys Targaryen in single combat. The Targaryen soldiers begin to lose hope, and they start scattering. 

Rhaegar meets the Kingslayer in battle. 

“I spared your life!” Rhaegar screams, all composure lost. 

But he is no match for a former member of the Kingsguard, trained by Arthur Dayne himself. 

King Rhaegar is slain at the Trident. Victory goes to the North.

VI. Epilogue

Elia Martell is crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Her first order is to arrest Petyr Baelish and hand him to the Starks. She lets the truth spread throughout the realm.

Littlefinger begs and appeals to Catelyn, calling out to his old friend, but to no avail. Robb Stark carries out the sentence, and Petyr Baelish loses his head. 

Rhaenys and Aegon do not mourn their father or their uncle. Rhaegar was cold and distant while Viserys was cruel. Elia smiles seeing her children content. She is glad she was able to raise them fully as hers alone. She sees no trace of their father in them, and she is grateful. 

_Free at last._

\-----

A feast is held at Casterly Rock to celebrate their victory. Sansa has retired early, but the men kept Jaime for a little longer, wanting to parade around their commander for his valiant deeds. 

Jaime enters his bedroom, finally able to escape the merriment. 

Sansa is lounging on the chaise, reading a book. Lady rises to greet him, nudging him relentlessly while whining for belly rubs. 

“She’s in a mood today,” Jaime remarks, kneeling down to give the direwolf what she wants. 

“How did it feel, being the center of attention tonight?” she asks, teasing him. 

Jaime rolls his eyes at her, and she laughs at him.

“Elia sends her regards,” he tells Sansa. “She is inviting us to come visit King’s Landing, when we’re able.”

Sansa smiles and agrees. She owes Elia Martell her life. Her husband drops to the seat beside her.

“Soon,” she says. “But not this year, I think.”

Jaime raises a brow at her, silently asking why.

Sansa takes his hand and places it on her belly. Her smile is bright, and her eyes are filled with tears. 

Jaime exhales a laugh, pulling her onto his lap. 

“So the Kingslayer is to be a father,” he whispers in amazement, his hand on her belly.

“And our child will know him for the man he truly is,” Sansa replies softly. 

Jaime kisses her. He was happy. Content. A wave of serenity washes over him - peace he has not felt since the day he donned the white cloak. For the first time in years, his heart is light and unburdened.

Sansa wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. To the realm, he is a Kingslayer, twice over. To her, he was just Jaime.

They break apart, and he carries her to bed, relishing her laughter. Sansa snuggles into his side, a smile on her face. 

She knows she loves him. She knows she would marry him in a heartbeat, if she had to choose all over again.

For the punishment they were dealt with, they had defied all odds and made quite a fine match. 

_A remarkable tale if I may say so myself, Sansa thinks._

-End-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! I needed something to distract myself from the useless evil government here back home. 
> 
> Stay safe in quarantine, y'all. Stop hoarding, consider others who live on a paycheck basis! Keep clamoring loudly online to demand appropriate and inclusive responses from every corrupt government to this pandemic! 
> 
> thank you very much for giving my work a shot!


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